Double Suicide
by D-chan
Summary: Sanzo x Goku :: AU, language, yaoi, violence, selfmutilation, cutting, death, suicide, lime :: Two troubled boys meet, making an agreement that when they run out of options they'll die together... and it's no game. [COMPLETE]
1. Prologue

**:: Double Suicide ::**

_Gensomaden__ Saiyuki_

Disclaimer: I don't own Gensomaden Saiyuki, which rightfully belongs to Minekura Kazuya.

Rating: PG

Pairings: Sanzo/Goku

Warnings: AU, mild OOCness, suicide, yaoi

Notes: And this is a project that I've been working on for a few months. And it took way too long, in my opinion.

Anyway, I usually like to write at least one darkfic for every fandom. I did it in crossovers, with Megami Kouhosei, Majutsushi Orphen, Kingdom Hearts... and now Saiyuki. If you're looking for characters other than Sanzo or Goku, you're not going to see much of them. This is a fic almost entirely on them, mostly from Sanzo's point of view. It _will_ have some serious issues and a few touchy subjects. Each chapter's warnings will be different depending on the content.

Since the prologue is so short, chapter one has also been posted along with it.

Constructive criticism and feedback appreciated.

--

_Prologue_

Two rounds. One for each of them. That was all they would need, because there was absolutely no way they could miss.

He held out the darker of the guns, eyes fastened on the receiver. Without hesitation, the weapon was taken. He picked up his own gun, loading it.

One bullet.

No way to miss.

"This is it."

A nod.

"So... let's do it."

He raised the gun, pausing in midair as his friend did nothing. He frowned.

"You promised to see things through with me, didn't you?" he demanded.

They were alone, isolated in the middle of the woods where no one would find them for days. It was perfect. No one would hear the gunshots; they had only gone missing for a few hours, and during those few hours they had spent the most wonderful time together.

But then, all physical pleasure was a lie. Everything but pain was a lie. Wonderful as it had been, it was a lie. The only truth lay in the here and now, in what they were about to do, in the ultimate sin they were about to commit. But they had to do it together. It was pointless otherwise.

"... Yeah."

His eyes narrowed. "No more backing out."

His friend didn't answer.

How many times had they tried and failed because the other had chickened out? This time no holes were left; the plan had been elaborated on again and again, this time planned for nearly two solid hours down to perfection. This was it. There was no turning back; turning back would be betrayal from this point on.

"Promise?"

He wouldn't do this alone; refused to do it alone. This time he had to succeed, and with this person. His only friend, family, and lover. No one else would do. It had taken him a long time to find the right person, and now that he had succeeded, he wouldn't back out. He would let the other back out, either.

"Sanzo, do you promise?"

A brief pause, and then the answer he sought.

"... Yeah."

He smiled, a glimmer of malice reflecting in his eyes. Without tearing his gaze from the blonde man, he put the gun to his lips, pushing the barrel in past his teeth. The metal was cold on his tongue. His breath hitched with anticipation.

Wordlessly, Sanzo loaded the gun.

The silence then was thick; impenetrable. In that silence a million words passed between them; a hundred thousand images, reflections, all moon shadows of what had happened; how they had come to this point; how hard they had to work to get here.

There was also a faint tremor of reluctance.

Somewhere in the vast house, a clock ticked.

Sanzo put the gun to his temple.

Smiling around the barrel, his companion nodded once. It was the barest of movements, but noticeable. Sanzo had always possessed a sharp eye.

The boy held up five fingers. Suddenly five seemed like such a huge number. Then the number lessened to four, and to three.

When it reached two, Sanzo could have sworn his life flashed before his eyes. It was over by the time only one finger remained, but it was enough to rock him.

Only one trigger was pulled.


	2. Chapter One

**:: Double Suicide ::**

_Gensomaden__ Saiyuki_

Disclaimer: I don't own Gensomaden Saiyuki, which rightfully belongs to Minekura Kazuya.

Rating: PG-13

Pairings: Sanzo/Goku

Warnings: AU, mild OOCness, mentioned sex, language, mild violence

Notes: Pretty much the same notes as with the prologue. Constructive criticism and feedback appreciated.

--

_Chapter One_

_- Two months prior -_

He was far from abused, but sometimes it sure felt like it. The only part of him that ached was his pride, the only blows delivered were words, and the only blood spilled was humanity. So much had been shed that it frequently became harder and harder for him to tell dream from reality; sometimes the passing illusions of him firing off several bullets, killing many strange figures, were so convincing it felt like another reality. Sometimes he could wake up in the middle of the night, his stomach alive with a fiery pain, and for a wild moment he would wonder if he had finally been struck and knocked out. But it was always phantom pain; it was never real.

So many things around him weren't real anymore. He'd already been committed to the asylum once in his life, the reason being his perception of the line over dreams and reality became so blurred he could do no more than stumble around in a confused daze. After months of having to deal with the oddities, his father had finally had enough to have him committed. It wasn't much of a problem now -- not in comparison to before -- but the dreams were still enough to disconcert him.

Most troubling was that he kept having strange flashes of déjà vu. It wasn't truly anything serious, but he would get the random feeling that whatever he had just said or done was very familiar, that he had done it many times before-- and if not in this lifetime, then another.

Then again, Genjo Sanzo didn't believe in reincarnation, so he always tried to ignore these thoughts.

Even though it had been a problem, the problem was less now, less noticeable, especially since he'd learned to keep his mouth shut. Unfortunately, his father didn't seem to accept that. Then again, there were a lot of things his father couldn't accept, hints of insanity being one of them.

Insane. Sanzo snorted at the thought. He wasn't quite eighteen yet, but he was dead certain he knew enough to understand that if anyone, his father was the crazy one. The man was so typical, straight from a bad negligent father-flavoured romance novel; a man peppered with a taste for alcohol and spiced with a sharp tongue.

In short, his father wanted him to see a psychiatrist. Naturally, his son wasn't keen on the idea, but since when did he have a say in anything that went on between them? If the risk of being caught wasn't so great, Sanzo would have fled the house as soon as the opportunity arose-- and it had risen several times in his adolescence. Unfortunately, running away wasn't an option.

His response to his father's suggestion had, admittedly, not been a very good one. An agreement probably would have calmed the man, perhaps would have even gotten him to reconsider the idea, but Sanzo's already battered pride had stepped up, vehemently denying his needing any help. A lot of shouting and cursing had ensued, and eventually he had ended up in his room. His father was stupid, getting him worked up like that, but fortunately not stupid enough to hit his own child; short-tempered, but somewhat rational.

What a fucked-up house he lived in. Sanzo hated it.

There were precious few things that could calm his nerves anymore. Reading had once been an option, but lately it grew increasingly hard to focus on fiction. Only reality drew him in, held him fast, especially when it was about something horrible. Wars and famine, they didn't intrigue him at all, but suicide, child molestation, rape, murder, all managed to have him eagerly drinking up every word from beginning to end, be it articles or television news.

Maybe he _was_ in need of therapy, but Sanzo didn't think so. He wasn't harming himself, wasn't suicidal, wasn't intent on harming others (well, except his bastard of a father) so what was the problem? There was none. There couldn't be. In comparison to other people, he was amazingly sane and level-headed. That was actually a bit alarming.

Now he rolled off his bed, fumbling in the dark for his radio. His father was a heavy sleeper, so late at night Sanzo would turn on some music -- it didn't matter what kind; he wasn't particular -- and a light, log on to their internet from his laptop (a gift) and go searching for various things. Once he found a tolerable station, he typed _mental disorders_ into the search engine. That was his current interest, and it wasn't too surprising. His father had been hinting at sending him back to the asylum for a few weeks now, and lately he had been doing some background research, simply curious.

There wasn't much to find tonight. He stumbled across an information site, but most of what he found were ignorant questions and equally ignorant answers.

One topic he had avoided for various reasons was sexual disorders. This time Sanzo found himself staring blankly at the screen, the faintest of frowns touching thin lips. He hadn't avoided it because of past trauma or anything; nothing of the sort had happened, really. It was more because he simply wasn't interested. But now, with nothing much better to do...

He clicked on the first link provided, skimmed the list, and randomly chose a topic.

_Pedophilia_

Backtracking, Sanzo found it was a fairly popular topic in the sexual disorders. Only mildly intrigued, he started to read, finding himself growing more interested with each line.

Pedophilia, strictly speaking, was something that occurred between an adult at least sixteen years of age and a child under thirteen years of age, and the age difference was usually at least five years. It wasn't really a disorder, though most people viewed it as such. Not all of it was abusive; some of it was even consensual, though kept secret. Despite the short sob stories clipped to some of the rants and articles, Sanzo kept reading.

At one point he could have sworn he heard a loud thump, like someone had fallen out of bed or tripped over furniture. However, switching his radio off, all that filled the house was silence. Shaking his head, annoyed with himself, Sanzo turned back to the screen. However, the sound had shattered his concentration, and he could no longer focus on the words before him. Cursing himself, he switched the machine off and went back to bed. Unfortunately, even there he wasn't able to sleep. It was as though the words he had read were burned into his mind; each time he closed his eyes, they burned brightly at him, red as a setting sun. Finding that so-called disorder couldn't possibly be a coincidence. There had to be some reason for it, some deeper universal meaning behind it all.

Unfortunately for the universe, Sanzo didn't believe in Fate or Destiny. He eventually fell into a restless sleep and dreamt, but all he could remember in the morning was the weight of a gun and a pair of disturbingly bright eyes.

~*~

There was one thing his father allowed him to do despite the risks, and that was practice shooting. Perhaps because it was a "manly" thing to do, or perhaps because it was a Big Thing for all males to know how to fire a gun. Whatever the reasons, Sanzo was glad, because it was slowly becoming the only way he could relieve stress. All he had to do was focus on the targets, pretend they were whatever he was mad at, and put a few rounds into it. Half of the time his target was his father, others it was his psychiatrist, and the rest of the time it was whatever was currently aggravating him. Today it was his father, and with each pull of the trigger, each buck of the metal in his hands, each ear-splitting sound of the blank whizzing through the air, he felt the tension slowly easing from his muscles.

He only stopped when he ran out of blanks. Feeling slightly drained but satisfied, Sanzo set the Smith & Wesson aside before clearing up the back yard. He and his father lived in a fairly desolate part of town, so it was safe to put up some empty soda or beer cans in the backyard, setting it up so that the bullets would fly harmlessly into the forest behind them, and practice. Sanzo would have preferred to practice with real bullets, and he knew where his father kept some, but he was forbidden to use them. Not only that, they were locked away and he had yet to discover where the key was, but once he did nothing would hold him back.

Luckily it was Saturday, and his father wasn't back from work yet (his work hours were odd and went to most weekends, for which Sanzo was thankful for). He preferred to have Sanzo practice when he wasn't around, otherwise the bastard would complain of a headache. Sanzo didn't care really; he just pulled out the gun and blanks whenever he felt tense.

Once he had everything put away, he went to his father's room, hoping to find a spare pack of cigarettes. It wasn't difficult; the man kept his room in such a messy state he never could tell when his son snatched a pack or two. There were several opened packs already, and many were soaked from beer, coffee, or some other unidentifiable substance (Sanzo refused to even touch those). Eventually he found an unopened pack. Relieved, he snatched it and tucked it into his back pocket. He only stopped by his room to grab a sweater -- fall could get ridiculously cold some days -- and his keys before he left the house.

Completely ignoring his car -- a beat up old thing his father used to own and only allowed him to have because no one else would pay a decent price for it -- Sanzo turned down the sidewalk. He lit a cigarette, taking a satisfying drag from it as he walked. It would be a few blocks before he would be anywhere anyone noticed him, and even then no one found his smoking odd. He was told he looked mature for his age. Sanzo wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not. Even if it was, they would have gotten the same response: a roll of his eyes and then the back of his head as he walked away.

Sanzo had once been told he had so much charisma it radiated, naturally drawing people to him. He had scoffed at the idea, but couldn't deny there certainly was something strange about people wanting to socialize with him. No matter how much he appeared to be disinterested, people wanted his opinion, wanted him to be a part of their lives in some way. Perhaps to anyone else it would have been flattering or exhilarating, but to him it was just annoying.

There was an intersection a short ways ahead, one where at the first curve across the street from where Sanzo walked, there was a short stone wall that indicated the boundaries of a park. Sanzo knew it, but hadn't visited it since he was a small child. Even then it had held little magic for him, at least not the kind he supposed it held for other children. To him it had just been a place to escape to for a little while; a few hours, at least, until the screams, threats, and crying stopped, until it was so dark all the other children had disappeared inside.

He knew it was coming up and, reflexively, looked up. He didn't expect to see anyone; most of the children that played there had either moved or grown too old for such toys, and few children nowadays wanted to play outside. Aside from that, the rusty swings, ripped tires, graffiti, and splintered wood were considered safety hazards.

That was why it startled him to see a boy sitting there, staring across the street expectantly. Sanzo stopped, staring blankly at the child. He couldn't discern features clearly from this distance, but was able to see that it was a small boy, probably about ten years old, with tousled brown hair.

And he was staring back, as though he was waiting for someone.

Waiting for him.

_Stupid.__ Keep going. It's just a kid waiting for his mother. Jesus._ Sanzo tried to turn but found himself rooted in one place. Reluctantly, he glanced both ways before starting across the street. He was walking normally, he was sure, but felt as though he were going slow, so very painfully slow.

Only when he set foot on the other sidewalk did the boy finally say something. "Took you long enough."

The voice was light but slightly raspy, as though the vocal cords weren't used often enough, or perhaps used a bit too much. The words also made Sanzo uncomfortable, for the brat sounded as though Sanzo should have come a long time ago-- and they didn't even know each other!

"What the hell's wrong with you?" he asked roughly. "I don't know you."

"But you heard me."

Incredulous, Sanzo couldn't help but utter a baffled, angry, "_What_?"

The boy smiled, flashing his little white teeth it what would have charmed adults but had little effect on Sanzo-- though he did have the sudden urge to smack the pretentious idiot. "If you came to me without my having to say anything out loud, then you must have heard me unconsciously. Why else are you here now, talking to me?"

Suddenly the smile wasn't so much charming as it was creepy. Unnerved and angry that he was unraveling so easily in front of and because of a mere child, Sanzo stepped back and said coldly, "You're delusional. Go home and play with your toys. Brat."

"What's your name?"

That was enough. Shaking his head, Sanzo turned his back, hasty to put good distance between them. The kid spoke nonsense; he was the type his father should worry about, not Sanzo. Ridiculous. Stupid.

And yet...

_Why else _would_ I go to him?_

In the end he had only gotten another block down the road before deciding he really didn't feel like going out in public anymore. Sanzo felt that all the eyes watching him would only be annoying and unnerving, especially after an incident like that. So he turned around and went back. The boy wasn't by the park anymore, or anywhere in sight. Sanzo found he wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed, and that thoroughly disturbed him.

When he got home, clouds had started to form. It smelled like rain. Sanzo grimaced; while he didn't dislike the rain itself, he did intensely hate what it brought around. Rainy days seemed to be a signal for his father to do one of two things: get drunk off his ass or bring home some red-lipped whore, sometimes both at the same time. Neither had pleasant effects for him.

He would have to be quick, then. His father came home at random times on days like this. Sanzo immediately went for the kitchen, grabbing a Coke and a bag of chips before hurrying to his room. He shut and locked the door behind him. Half the time his father wouldn't bother him when he did that, though the other half...

He preferred not to think about it.

Having nothing better to do, Sanzo ripped open the bag of chips and set his soda down by his keyboard as he slid into his chair. Once the laptop was on he brought up his inbox, finding little more than junk mail.

_It's going to be a hell of a long night,_ he thought grimly, bringing up an internet window and typing in a search, not really thinking about what he was doing. Before long he found something that caught his eye, and he settled back to read.

Sure enough, the front door slammed shut nearly an hour later. Loud laughter caught his ears. He tried to tune it out, but something was different. He frowned, curious despite himself, and stood. The bag of chips was left half eaten, the soda long gone. Walking as quietly as possible, he approached his door and unlocked it, pushing it open just enough to glance out.

He saw his father, all right. Very short, almost fuzzy-looking blonde hair on a slightly balding head, his back to the boy's piercing eyes. Sanzo knew if he turned he would see blue eyes, piercing blue that looked nothing like his own until his father grew angry. Near him was a very voluptuous, scantily-clad dark-haired woman.

Two women, actually. The other was dressed similarly, though in a black dress as opposed to her companion's white skirt; both had the same colour hair, and Sanzo was almost certain both had brown eyes. Twins, perhaps. They sure looked like it.

So that was it. Biting back a snort of disgust, Sanzo started to close the door. He didn't want to have anything to do with this.

Unfortunately, it wasn't going to be that easy.

"Ah, Genjo, is that you?" his father called pleasantly. "Come on down and meet our guests."

Sanzo scowled. He hated being called by that name, his father knew it, and yet he always did it. "No, thank you," he declined, forcing himself to be as polite as possible without having to interact more than he wanted. He really hated the old man, and that hatred only made him count down the days to his eighteenth birthday all the quicker.

"Don't be rude." There was a clip of warning in gis father's voice, promising catastrophe at best. "Come meet the twins. They're a lovely pair."

"I said no, thank you," Sanzo bit, glaring. "I'm tired and I just want to sleep." That was a lie, of course. He wasn't tired in the least, and his father was only making his blood heat with anger. That was going to keep him up all night.

"I'm sure you can spare a few minutes. It's not like you're doing anything tomorrow."

"Do too," Sanzo said, without thinking. "I'm babysitting."

"Ohh, he baby-sits? How cute!" one of the women squealed, her voice very high-pitched. Sanzo's eyebrow twitched at the grating noise. It reminded him of that strange boy's voice, only it was more like nails on a chalkboard than simple childish whining. And it wasn't even fingernails on a chalkboard, but carpenter nails.

His father arched an eyebrow, the movement very similar to Sanzo's. "You don't baby-sit."

"Do too."

His father smirked. "Oh? Who is it, then?"

Sanzo scowled. "You wouldn't know him. Little kid, really dirty-looking, messy brown hair..." Perhaps meeting the weird kid had been of some use, after all.

His father blatantly ignored that. "He talks a lot, but really, he hates children," he told the woman on his right.

"Which just goes to show how much you know about the son you never spend time with," Sanzo retorted.

Instead of growing visibly angry -- Sanzo was positive his father was inwardly raging by now -- the man chuckled. "What can you expect from a son that simply doesn't want to talk to his own father?" This was said to his female companions. "It's really sad; teenagers don't want anything to do with their parents nowadays."

"Really sad," the dark-clad woman agreed, her eyes straying toward Sanzo. The boy knew that look, recognized it, and he scowled. "He sure don't look like a teenager."

"Kids grow up so fast," Sanzo's father agreed with a smirk. "Physically."

Sanzo slammed the door shut.

~*~

Despite the loud, excited noises that drifted up to his room, Sanzo finally managed to find sleep sometime in the early morning. Perhaps that was when the women left, because he heard the sound of an engine and the front door shutting loudly. Already tired despite the bright glow of his laptop screen -- he was feeling too lazy to get up and turn it off -- he fell asleep very quickly after that.

Sometimes his father would wake him up come morning, occasionally even right after his guests had left if he was in a foul enough mood, but that seemed not to be the case this night. In the morning Sanzo was grateful he'd had the foresight to lock his bedroom door. He peered out the window first, checking for his father's car.

It was gone.

His laptop had turned off sometime during the night; whether it had done it on its own or his father had somehow gotten in to do it, Sanzo was unsure. He was highly doubtful of the latter prospect. The door was still locked, and Sanzo was fairly sure his father didn't have a key; Sanzo did, but always kept it with him just in case.

It was Sunday, and normally his father didn't work Sundays, but the man was gone. That meant he could leave as soon as he wanted.

Maybe.

First he took a hot shower, and the stinging water pelting his skin helped him relax, the memories of the sickeningly loud noises of his father's late night activities temporarily washing away. It wasn't the thought itself that disturbed him; Sanzo was no child. He understood that his father had sexual needs, no matter how weird some of them were. It was just that he preferred _not_ to hear it. And the fact there had been not one, but _two_ women involved... it made him shudder.

He scrubbed his hair furiously, working off a bit of tension that way, and after rinsing off thoroughly (and then some) he finally turned off the water. The air was cold without the water's heat, raising goosebumps on his arms and neck. He quickly grabbed a towel and dried off, hurrying back to his room to change.

It was nearly noon when he finally came down for lunch, dressed in nothing more than a pair of jeans and socks. He didn't plan on going out, and the socks had gone on because he was still chilled a bit from the shower, and by then he had forgotten about them. Sanzo padded down the stairs, going for the refrigerator. Finding nothing he wanted, he also noted that his father had left some coffee in the coffee machine. He turned it back on, not wanting to drink the stuff cold, then went to the front door, stepping outside to grab the newspaper. He crouched down to grab it from the doorstep, and when he stood back up a flash of colour made him look twice.

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

At the end of the driveway stood a boy, and he had no doubts it was the same boy from yesterday. He was staring right back at him, and Sanzo couldn't mistake the grin on the round face. The boy then waved, and he knew he was having no hallucinations.

_Ignore him,_ he thought, stepping back across the threshold, his eyes never leaving the boy. For some reason he couldn't help taking in the sight; for the first time he noticed the length of the boy's hair; short and mussed on top, with long, thick strands reaching to his tiny waist. The long sleeve shirt he wore was large, a good few sizes too big, and slipped over the shoulder he wasn't waving. He was barefoot, and if he wore shorts it was hard to tell; the shirt nearly fell to the boy's knees, and from there down all Sanzo saw was a pair of thin, tanned child's legs, down to the ankles and toes.

_Ignore him!_ his mind screamed. He shook himself, turning abruptly and slamming the door shut. Even so, he felt breathless; the kid had left him shaking, shaking so bad he could hardly keep a hold on the newspaper.

Damn it!

Sanzo finally got some of his wits back together, enough to hold the paper without fear of dropping it; enough to move back to the kitchen, albeit slowly, and mechanically set the bundled paper down and pour himself a cup of coffee. He took a sip and the scalding liquid make him choke. It was enough to snap him out of his previous trance; now he was nothing more than irritated.

_Creepy brat,_ he thought in annoyance, climbing onto the counter. His feet slipped, so he kicked his socks off to brace himself easier. Another sip of coffee made him wince; he set the cup down to let it cool off a bit, leaning over to grab the paper and snap the rubber band off. He opened it, eyes skimming the articles. For once he couldn't really concentrate, not even on the short article about a local girl being committed to the city asylum for slashing her wrists.

The image of that boy standing there, waving... that was all his mind's eye could see, and it angered him further, making him want to put it out of his mind even more. After nearly an hour, his coffee half gone and newspaper hardly read, Sanzo gave up, throwing the paper down in disgust. He stalked back up to his room, taking only the coffee with him; he could clean the kitchen later. His father wouldn't care; his room was even messier than the rest of the house combined.

Sanzo went back to his laptop, pushing the small button on the side to turn it on. Nothing happened. Frowning, he checked to make sure it was plugged in; it was. Still frowning, he pushed the button again, then moved to check the wirings. Absolutely nothing was out of place, which meant that something vital inside it had quit working for some reason.

He cursed loudly, clamping a hand over his mouth in frustration. This meant he would have to take it in to get it fixed. Money wasn't an issue; despite his being the bastard that he was, Sanzo's father gave him money when he needed it, though it was likely because he wanted to be sure Sanzo could never say his father never gave him anything. No, money certainly wasn't the issue; it was just that right then, especially after seeing the boy watching him from the end of his own driveway, it felt like the universe was conspiring against him.

He stood abruptly, going to his window and pulling the shades up. Looking outside, he winced to see that the boy was still there-- and now he was staring up at the window, directly at Sanzo.

What the hell was going on?

Well, since subtle hints hadn't worked, the kid was obviously an idiot. Sanzo was going to go down there right now and tell him to fuck off, and if that didn't work, he'd beat some sense into the brat. The last thing he needed was some little shrimp getting attached to him, for any weird or bizarre reason.

Heedless of his bare feet and shirtless state, Sanzo spun around, storming to the front door and stepping outside. He instantly regretted not wearing shoes; the gravel was hot from the sun. How had the brat been able to stand outside for so long? Looking over at him, Sanzo realized that the kid was in a patch of shade, overshadowed by a tree.

Grumbling, Sanzo limped over to the boy, trying to hurry over the hot asphalt of the driveway. "Hey," he said, pleased to find the annoyance was clear and loud in his voice. "What the hell's wrong with you? Get lost."

The boy shook his head; his smile had faded the closer the blonde got to him. Sanzo glared, and the boy spoke. "Nuh uh."

"I mean it," Sanzo said tightly. "I don't want or need some little scruffy brat around me. Go away."

The boy frowned, though his full childish lips turned it into more of a pout. Folding his arms defiantly across his chest, he repeated, "Nuh uh."

Sanzo twitched.

"Look," he began dangerously. "Don't think I have any qualms about hitting a kid. I don't care how small you are; if you keep pissing me off I'll beat some sense into you! Now get the hell away from me!"

The pout turned into a suddenly gleeful smile. "But," the brunette said, shifting from foot to foot excitedly. "_You_ came to _me_."

Sanzo stared.

"Yesterday," the boy continued, looking devilishly happy. "Yesterday you came to me because you heard me. And today you came because you heard me again, and soon you'll see that you'll always be coming to me when I need you."

Disbelief flooded Sanzo. The kid was crazy. Hearing him? Sure, yesterday he had wondered if the brat had a point, but that had been banished very quickly. The kid was unnerving, but that was just because he was so damn persistent. He had probably followed Sanzo home yesterday to see where he lived and now had taken to stalking the young man. Sanzo couldn't label it stalking just yet, since no one would take him seriously until the kid did something weird aside from speak strange things and follow him once or twice, but he knew. He was being stalked.

Suddenly, without thinking, Sanzo clenched his fist and sent it crashing to the boy's head. _Hard_. The brunette yelped, falling to the ground and clutching the sore spot as he whimpered in pain. Perhaps he could have, but Sanzo couldn't bring himself to feel guilt or regret what he had done. He had warned the kid, after all.

"Now you know," he said coldly, taking a step back and absently rubbing his faintly throbbing knuckles. The kid sure had a hard head. "Stay the hell away from me." Without giving the boy a chance to say anything else, he turned and stalked back to his house, slamming the door shut hard behind him.


	3. Chapter Two

**:: Double Suicide ::**

_Gensomaden__ Saiyuki_

Disclaimer: I don't own Gensomaden Saiyuki, which rightfully belongs to Minekura Kazuya.

Rating: PG-13

Pairings: Sanzo/Goku

Warnings: AU, mild OOCness, language, some morbidness

Notes: Just wanted to say thank you for all the reviews so far, and to say (since I forgot before) that this fic will contain a prologue, six chapters, and an epilogue. Also to say that yes, I _am_ still working on my other WIP (_Valley__ of __Blood_) but it's not coming along as fast as I'd like. But no, it hasn't been abandoned... it's just coming a bit slow.

That and Latin is sex, and Enrique Iglesias has somehow stolen my soul. O_o;

--

_Chapter Two_

That night he found out that his first appointment was that Thursday. All the glaring in the world wouldn't make his father back down. He was adamant: Sanzo would see the shrink Thursday during school. If asked, he had a doctor's appointment, and that wasn't really too far from the truth.

Disgruntled, Sanzo had stormed straight for his room, where he had tried to turn on his laptop, forgetting it was still dead. The reminder was only another thorn in his side. He ended up going to bed early, though he didn't find sleep for a long time.

Perhaps it was just him, but Thursday seemed to come too quickly. The days just flew past, making him even more cross as the fated day came. If there was one thing he could be grateful for, it was that he hadn't seen the weird kid once since that Sunday afternoon. And so during his fourth period, Sanzo was called down to the office, where his father picked him up. They rode into town in absolute silence, and that was good; words only made things worse between them-- as though things weren't bad enough already.

He was dropped off outside an old-looking brick building. "Have your key?" his father asked carelessly, going on before Sanzo could answer. "Good. See you later. Good luck." The words were off-handed and flippant, and he started to speed away even before Sanzo could hastily slam the door shut behind him. Glowering after the man, Sanzo turned and climbed the front steps, pushing the double glass doors open.

Inside was a lot nicer looking; cleaner. The walls were painted off-white; a few pastel paintings hung here and there. The tiles were also white, though if one bothered to look close enough there were spots of red, purple, and gray on them. Shaking his head, Sanzo tore his eyes up from the floor and went to the front desk, politely inquiring where the psychologist's office was. Four floors up and six doors down the hall later, Sanzo found himself seated on an overstuffed couch in the waiting room. His session had yet to start, and the psychologist was apparantly busy with another patient at the moment.

He didn't like the waiting room. It had a few women and children's magazines that were of no interest to him and little else; it was hot and stuffy, as though the secretary didn't know what the words _air conditioner_ implied. Then again, she seemed to like it that way, what with her bare midriff shirt and tiny little shorts. She was too round for them, too heavy, not the type to go around wearing such revealing clothing, but she did. She was. Sanzo had zero interest in her, though he wasn't oblivious to her curious glances.

For the next ten minutes he found himself lazily sprawling on the couch, eyes half-lidded as he stared up at the ceiling, trying to find a comfortable position on the damned couch. His thought process didn't go anywhere in particular; if anything, it lazily skirted many things, not focusing on a sole idea. It reminded him of the tiles downstairs; white nothingness, scattered with little colour.

"--have been a good boy as of late, though." The voice was muffled but then the psychologist's door opened, making it more clear. It was a man's voice, deep but soft, smooth, and soothing, exactly what one would expect from a man of his profession. "And the doctors have found nothing recent."

"I can be good," a much younger, slightly more nasal voice replied. The sound made Sanzo sit up suddenly. "I've been real good, haven't I?"

"Real good," the doctor agreed, ruffling the child's hair. "Your mother will be outside now?"

"Yup!"

"Go on, then."

Sanzo stared, wondering of he really had gone insane. Here he was, in a psychologist's office -- and not for the first time in his life -- and it was here, of all places, after so many days, that he saw that damn kid again.

The universe was definitely against him.

The boy turned to him, his large eyes widening further with surprise. "Oh! You're here, too?"

The doctor looked down at the boy. "You know him?"

"Kinda. He lives in my neighborhood."

"Small world."

_Seriously,_ Sanzo thought grimly, getting to his feet. He kept his eyes off the boy, hoping he would take the hint and leave. Apparently Sunday's incident had already been long forgotten. However, much to his dismay, the doctor said he would call Sanzo inside in a couple minutes before going back to his office, shutting the door behind him.

The boy turned his smile back on the blonde; quickly his expression transformed from innocent to mischievous. "So," he chirped, plopping himself down on the couch. "What're you here for?"

Sanzo glared at him. "Can't you take a hint, kid?"

The boy shook his head, kicking his heels against the floor. "Nope," he said simply. "So what're you here for? Family issues? Self-mutilation? Suicidal or homicidal thoughts?"

The large words spilling from such a small mouth was disturbing. "None of your damn business," Sanzo retorted. "Where the hell did you learn those words, anyway? You can't be more than... what, seven?"

"Twelve," the boy corrected him, not seeming fazed. He looked pleased at the startled expression on the older boy's face. "Not that little, you know. And I know more than you think." Sanzo opened his mouth to say that the kid was delusional, that he was just an idiot, when his next sentence froze him. "_I_ know you don't need to be here now, but someday you will."

Sanzo found he could do little more than stare. The words were bold, especially from such a tiny boy. Twelve? He sure as hell didn't look twelve. He did have one thing right; Sanzo didn't need to be there-- but he was dead wrong in thinking Sanzo ever _would_ need to go.

Sanzo wanted to say something, anything to make the brat realize how crazy he sounded, but his name was called. When he looked up, the secretary was gesturing for him to come over. It was time for his session. Shooting the boy a final look of contempt, he stormed into the psychologist's room, shutting the door none too lightly behind him.

"You seem aggravated," were the first words out of the man's mouth. Seething silently, Sanzo slid into the nearest chair, fighting to keep his expression blank. His eyes flickered to the desk; the man's name was Dr. Neal Nemo. He snorted inwardly. It was a fitting name for a children's psychologist.

There was a quiet rustle of paper. "Your father says you've had some problems in the past. Care to talk about it?"

Sanzo lifted one shoulder in a shrug. The past was the past; he could talk about that, so long as he didn't have to say that it still occasionally bothered him. "I used to have weird dreams," he said plainly, his voice a bored monotone. "Really weird dreams that had me disoriented. I couldn't tell them apart from reality."

"What sort of dreams, Genjo?"

Sanzo scowled. "I don't like that name."

Dr. Nemo nodded, his own mask of care in place, his real thoughts hidden behind his carefully perched glasses. "All right, then. What should I call you?"

"Just Sanzo."

"Sanzo. What sort of dreams were they, Sanzo?"

The boy closed his eyes briefly, recalling. There were the subtle ones, ones where little incidents had happened that he couldn't be blamed getting them confused with reality. Then there had been the bigger ones. With a simple incident, he could just get confused about whether or not he had gone out for dinner the night before. With a larger one he would actually feel it, the sensations; the buck of a gun in his hand, a gun he recognized but had never used before. The one on his dreams was a much older model, much more worn that his own... and yet he felt comfortable with it.

There was also the pain, the searing pain of something long, metallic, and sharp tearing his gut open. Then there were the dreams he told no one about, the ones where he awoke and felt as though every inch of him was alive, tingling, and on fire-- and horny as hell. No, those he preferred not to talk about.

Calmly, without pause, he said, "Just weird dreams. Sometimes things like walking in a forest I've never seen before. Sometimes I dreamt about demons. Sometimes it was just bits of conversations I've never had, and it was all weird stuff."

"Demons?" Dr. Nemo questioned, his mild tone piqued with curiosity. Sanzo shrugged. "What sort of demons? Did they do anything strange?"

Sanzo shrugged again. "Just demons. They had a sort of human appearance, I guess... but fangs, pointed ears..."

"They weren't elves?"

Irritation sparked, but Sanzo kept his voice level. "No."

"Are you sure?" The questions were just as calm as his responses, though unlike Sanzo's answers, they were prodding. He scowled faintly.

"I'm sure," he said.

"Why's that?"

"They just felt like demons." And really, there was no other way he could explain it. They looked like demons, felt like them-- their nonexistent auras had just been tinged with something that made him automatically know they were creatures of hell. Or something.

Dr. Nemo just nodded, his pen scribbling over his notepad. He must have felt Sanzo's eyes on him, because without looking up he offered, "You can have your own notepad if you'd like."

Sanzo couldn't stop his eyebrow from twitching. "Why would I want one?"

The doctor finally looked up, brown eyes patient. "Most of my patients do. It gives them more of a sense of equality with me. I like to maintain that equality."

Scoffing, Sanzo turned his head to look at the nearest wall. On it were a few college degrees, and scattered around those were various crayon and coloured pencil drawings, most done by little kids with their first names messily scrawled in the corner. "Don't pull that with me," he muttered. "I couldn't give a damn whether--" Something caught his eye, making him break off abruptly. _What the hell...?_

Following his gaze to the wall, Dr. Nemo asked gently, "Is something wrong?"

Sanzo didn't answer, choosing instead to lean slightly closer to the wall to get a better look. A name was scribbled on the top corner, but in the center of the page was a crayon drawing. The art was far from good; it was mostly stick figures. Those figures were, however, disturbing; one was decapitated, red stuff that was clearly blood spurting from the neck like an erupting volcano. Another had a black line drawn through him; perhaps it was supposed to be a sword. Blood was drawn crudely. The last had the legs and one of the arms missing. The figures were black, but the rest of the paper was nearly entirely covered with quickly scribbled blood.

What disturbed him most, however, was the middle figure, the one with the black line drawn through it. The other two didn't have anything distinctive about them, but this one seemed to have blonde hair-- and a lot of it, covering the face and falling down to the ground like a woman's. For some reason it sent cold chills down Sanzo's spine.

He finally tore his eyes away. "Nice patients you get here," he muttered.

Dr. Nemo seemed to know what he was talking about. The picture was, after all, the only of its kind on the wall. "I deal best with small children," he admitted. "I don't often get a job involving young adults such as yourself, Sanzo."

The blonde pursed his lips. "That's pretty damn disturbing for a kid, doctor."

"Call me Neal if you'd like," the doctor invited. Sanzo nodded, but had no intention of ever taking up the offer. "People have the misconception that only adults have adult issues."

"I know," Sanzo said without thinking. "I've--" He quickly shut his mouth; he didn't want to get into his late night hobbies.

"You've what?" Dr. Nemo asked.

He scowled, but after a few moment's debate decided it couldn't hurt. "I do research on mental illnesses," he muttered, eyes shifting to the wall again. The drawing caught his eye a second time. "Just for something to do."

"Why is that?"

"Just something to do," he repeated.

The rest of the hour was fairly uneventful after that. Sanzo allowed himself to talk about school, though he purposefully skimmed over his social life. Other than that it was simply about his grades, about his relationships with his teachers, and very, very briefly about his romantic life-- or lack thereof.

It had been a waste of an hour, he thought as he finally left the office. The kid was no longer in the waiting room, which he noted with immense relief. He wasn't in the mood to put up with a psychopath on top of a stalker. He couldn't clearly remember leaving and riding the elevator down. However, when he pushed the glass door open and stepped outside, his attention was called for.

"Hey, Sanzo!"

He whirled, angered to find that the boy was sitting on the railing going down the center of the stairs. The boy was grinning broadly still, as though the smile had never left his face.

Sanzo finally found his voice. "You," he snarled, feeling his last thread of patience wearing dangerously thin. "What the hell do you _want_?!"

The boy hopped down from his perch, the smile finally fading as his eyes took on an expression of complete solemnity. It was at that moment, with the sun shining directly down on him, that Sanzo finally realized how bright the kid's eyes were-- bright, like the gold of a brand new wristwatch, dimmed slightly with something dark and almost sinister.

"Right now," he was saying in his childish voice, "I just want to walk you home. Please let me." A note of desperation seeped into the request, and Sanzo had the disturbing feeling that if he refused it would completely crush the boy. He opened his mouth to say no, but somehow found himself agreeing. Brightening considerably, the boy immediately latched on to Sanzo's sleeve. Shaking his head, Sanzo started down the sidewalk, the strange boy in tow. Whether or not the universe was against him, it seemed that he was stuck.

For the most part, they walked in silence. The psychologist's office was a good ways into town, likely Sanzo's father's way of insuring it would take his son quite a while to get home. That was fine; Sanzo preferred to stay away as long as possible, anyway. He checked his watch. School would be out any minute. After school he didn't always go straight home, and today he was torn between wanting to hurry back and wanting to linger outside as long as possible. He still had his backpack with him, so he also had some money tucked away somewhere.

Which was fortunate, because he heard a soft growl. Surprised, he momentarily wondered if that had been him, when he glanced down at the tag-along brunette, who smiled sheepishly.

"I'm hungry," the boy admitted.

Sanzo scoffed, looking back up. "So what? Why should I care?"

"Because," was the simple reply. "I'm really hungry."

"The world doesn't revolve around you," Sanzo muttered. Even so, in the end he found himself taking the kid to the nearest McDonald's restaurant, though he swore to seriously murder the brat when he wanted nearly everything on the menu.

"But I'm a growing boy," the brunette whined. "I need my energy!"

"Probably just to fill the empty space in your head," Sanzo grumbled, but let the matter drop. Then something occurred to him. "What the hell's your name anyway?"

"Goku," the boy replied, swinging his feet beneath the table. Sanzo knew that was what he was doing because a small foot accidentally hit his shin. "Oops. Sorry."

Sanzo winced and scowled, leaning down to rub his shin, but he didn't say anything. Something about that name was... familiar. "How do you spell that?"

"What?"

Impatient, he snapped. "Your name, idiot! How do you spell it?"

"G-O-K-U," the boy said without hesitation.

That was it. Sanzo had seen the kid's signature on a paper in the psychologist's office-- the paper with all the blood. He was the one that had drawn it, the picture that had given Sanzo unpleasant chills.

Goku kicked him again, this time on purpose. "Sanzo," he whined. "They're calling our number." Too startled by the realization to get angry, Sanzo quickly got up to retrieve their lunch, bringing it back and watching Goku eat. His own movements felt mechanical, with Goku's so fluid in comparison, and for the first time he was allowing himself to wonder exactly why the boy was seeing a head doctor.

He would not asked. Sanzo refused to ask without a good reason other than to satisfy his own curiosity.

Around a mouthful of cheeseburger, Goku said, "You're not eating." Or at least, Sanzo thought he said that. Shaking his head, the blonde picked up a packet of ketchup, squirting some onto the tray and poking at it with a French fry. He managed to eat about three before Goku spoke up again, this time without any food to muffle him. "Why're you seein' Dr. Nemo, anyway?"

"What, not Neal?" Sanzo muttered, poking another fry at the ketchup. It reminded him of the crayon blood...

Goku made a face. "He don't let me call him that," he said, taking a large bite of his burger. "So?"

Sanzo scowled. "It's none of your business. Besides, didn't you say you knew I didn't need to be there?"

The boy grinned, swallowing the food in his mouth. There was some ketchup and crumbs on his face; how he had achieved that Sanzo didn't want to know. "Yeah, but I dunno why you're going. Why're you going if you don't have to?"

"What does it matter?" he asked, sitting back and folding his arms over his chest crossly. If there was one thing he hated, it was being interrogated-- though at least it was just an annoying brat and not a prying adult.

Goku shrugged, glancing down at his burger. "I dunno. It probably doesn't. But I like you, so I want to know."

Sanzo shook his head. "You're crazy."

"Nope. Just hungry." Goku finally polished off his burger, making a grab for Sanzo's. When the blonde didn't object, he unwrapped it and bit into it before making a face. "Ugh... mustard." He pulled off the top bun, pressing it flat on the paper in the tray, wiping the mustard off on it. It was Sanzo's turn to wrinkle his nose; it reminded him of his father's room. Goku, seeming satisfied, put the bun back on and resumed eating.

At last, Sanzo said, "My father's making me go."

"Really?"

"He thinks I'm crazy."

Goku laughed. "I _know_ you are," he said, grabbing a ketchup pack and ripping it open with his teeth, squirting it on his hamburger, probably to get rid of the leftover mustard taste. Ignoring Sanzo's murderous glare, he continued, "But that's okay. I'm weird, too."

"No kidding," Sanzo muttered. "Since I told you, why don't you tell me? Why're you there?"

Goku looked up, the smile gone. He stared at Sanzo for a long moment, and those golden eyes were unnerving. In the shade the other day they had seemed a golden brown, and when they had first met the sun had been to Goku's back. But out in the direct sunlight, and under fluorescent lights, Sanzo could clearly see they were a bright gold. It was unnatural; he'd never seen eyes like that before.

Goku glanced down for a moment, eyes flicking to his left arm, before looking up and saying smugly, "I'll tell you-- if you'll be my friend."

Disgusted, Sanzo snarled, "What makes you think I--"

"I won't give up until you're my friend," Goku said stubbornly, actually setting down the half-eaten burger so he could talk properly. "I've been looking for you for a long, long time, and I finally found you. You gotta be my friend, or really bad things will happen, and then you'll be sorry."

They were the words of a child's threat, words that most children said just to get what they wanted. _You'll be sorry..._ Words of a desperate child, one that had his back against a wall and had nowhere else to go, no other weapon to use.

However, unlike most children, Sanzo had the feeling Goku really meant it.

"I don't make friends," he finally said.

"You should."  
"I don't _want_ friends."

"You need at least one." Sanzo glared, feeling his temper starting to rise. As though sensing it, Goku went on quickly to say, "Or at least someone you can confide in. And you know you can't trust any adults; they try to do 'what's best for you' whether you want their help or not. Kids are much better at keeping secrets." He nodded once as though to confirm it for himself.

"I have no secrets I want to tell a dirty brat like you," Sanzo said coldly.

Goku shrugged, quickly picking up his burger and biting into it again. "Well," he said when he was halfway done chewing. "I wouldn't mind confiding in you. I gotta trust you first, though."

"I don't want to know any of your damn secrets."

"Most people don't," Goku agreed, swallowing what was in his mouth. "But you'll know anyway."

Scowling, Sanzo settled for watching the brat finish his burger. Goku instantly went for the French fries after that, finishing them off silently and quickly. Afterwards he sat back, his small soda in his hands, watching Sanzo contentedly as he sipped at his drink.

Sanzo frowned when he realized that he, too, had been staring. He quickly tore his eyes away, absently bringing his own drink to his lips. He didn't focus on a single thing; he was too aware of the boy across from him. He could see him from the corner of his eye, those gold eyes never looking away even once. He could see him, smell him, almost _feel_ him. And, to his surprise and horror, it only served to remind him of _those_ dreams.

The blonde stood suddenly, grabbing his tray and dumping the trash without a word, his half-empty soda going with the paper remains. Goku scrambled after him, though he didn't relinquish his cup. He followed the older boy outside; Sanzo could hear his sneakers against the pavement as they hurried to catch up with him.

But _why_?

Sanzo kept going, unable to ignore the presence of the child. He didn't have any set direction, had no idea where his feet were taking him, but he decided to go with it. The kid would have to get tired and stop following him _sometime_, wouldn't he?

At this rate, it seemed unlikely.

For nearly an hour the two walked. Having heard the boy chatter almost endlessly during lunch, Sanzo was actually surprised that Goku was so quiet for so long. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally and always Goku was there, his short legs hurrying to keep up, his golden eyes staring back. Sometimes the boy would grin at him, and Sanzo would turn away again.

When his legs finally began to tire, Sanzo turned and started to head back home. Goku still followed, still quiet, still keeping barely a foot behind the older boy. Sanzo was very disconcerted at this point but tried to shrug it off. His backpack, having little more than a few notebooks and a textbook, was getting heavy, hurting his back. He suddenly had the desire to take a hot shower to relieve the tension.

Goku followed him all the way to his house, only pausing at the driveway. When the footsteps abruptly stopped, Sanzo automatically turned to see why. Goku stood there, hands dangling at his sides, his expression blank. The gentlest of breezes disturbed his already tousled hair.

"What?" Sanzo finally asked, pushing a hand in his pocket as he turned to face the boy completely.

Goku stared at him, glanced at the ground, then looked back up again. "I wanna see you again."

Frowning, Sanzo shook his head. "Well, I don't want to see you."

"Can I come over tomorrow?"

He just couldn't take a hint! Sanzo narrowed one eye in what he knew was the perfect look of contempt. "Can't you hear, you dumb brat? I don't want to see you again."

Golden eyes hardened into an expression of absolute stubbornness, one that Sanzo recognized immediately. He would see the same look in the mirror sometimes, after an argument with his father. Sometimes he would even see it in his father's own eyes when he was being especially adamant.

At last, Sanzo said, "I have school." The words came with obvious reluctance, and Goku didn't seem oblivious to them.

"S'okay," he said sincerely. "I can come after."

"I'll probably have homework."

"So? Tomorrow's Friday," Goku reminded him. "And you got all weekend. Bet you won't do it anyway."

Sanzo scowled; what a presupposing little brat he was dealing with! The next insult flew out without his consciously realizing it, and later he would wonder exactly where it had come from. "Don't think you know everything, you stupid monkey." He turned abruptly. "Stop following me."

"See you tomorrow, then."

Eyebrow twitching, Sanzo stalked to the house and went inside, slamming the door shut with a note of finality. Despite that, he had the deep-set gut feeling that Goku was far from through with him.


	4. Chapter Three

**:: Double Suicide ::**

_Gensomaden__ Saiyuki_

Disclaimer: I don't own Gensomaden Saiyuki, which rightfully belongs to Minekura Kazuya.

Rating: R

Pairings: Sanzo/Goku

Warnings: AU, mild OOCness, language, self-mutilation, blood

Notes: Fic's rating has been upped for various reasons. From this point on we'll be getting pretty weird and twisted; just a warning. It's still not as bad as my KH fic, but I think it's a bit creepier in some ways.

Anyway. Update. And I'm working on another epic. God save me... ^^;

--

_Chapter Three_

Despite his hopes that his so-called gut feeling had been a false alarm, Goku was at his doorstep the very next day, almost exactly fifteen minutes after Sanzo had gotten home. The boy rang the doorbell and Sanzo, still hoping it was a coincidence, had answered, only to be met with a bright smile and a bundle of energy as the boy bounced right on inside.

"So where's your room?" Goku asked before Sanzo could say anything.

Sanzo glared at him. "Get out."

"Nuh uh." Goku went straight for the kitchen. "Got anything to eat? I'm soooo hungry!" Scowling, Sanzo followed him, slamming the refrigerator door shut before Goku could grab anything. The boy's hand was nearly caught-- and only nearly, much to Sanzo's disappointment.

"I didn't invite you in," he snapped. "So get out."

Goku shook his head. "Nope. You're stuck with me."

That did it. Sanzo roughly grabbed the boy by the back of his sweater -- really, what was he doing wearing such heavy clothing on a hot day? -- and dragged him to the front door. "No," he snarled. "I'm not. You're going to get lost, and you're going to do it _now_." However, once he had the door open, Goku's small hands closed around the edge of the doorway, refusing to let the older boy throw him out. Sanzo tried to shake him off, but the brat had a surprisingly tight grip.

"Noooo," Goku whined, clinging tighter. "I wanna stay with you!"

That voice was getting on his nerves. And the whining! Sanzo would go insane. "I don't want you here!" he all but shouted. "Get the hell out!"

"No!"

"I mean it, you damn brat!"

"So do I!"

Sanzo balled one of his hands into a fist, slamming it hard into one of Goku's hands. With a startled yelp, the boy's grip slackened and Sanzo could tear him away from the door. He put his foot on the boy's chest, ready to literally kick him out. Goku was lucky he wasn't wearing shoes. However, rather than give in, Goku lunged forward -- which had to have _hurt_ with Sanzo's foot on his ribs -- and managed to somehow lock his small arms around the blonde.

This was crazy! _He_ was crazy! "Let go of me," Sanzo snarled.

Goku stubbornly clung on. "No!"

"I mean it! Let _go_!"

"_No!_"

Sanzo twisted at the boy's wrists and Goku cried out sharply, but still didn't release the older boy. "Fuck!" Sanzo swore, pushing with his foot. He slipped and his knee hit the boy's chest instead. Goku winced, coughing, but still clung tight. Sanzo paused for a moment, staring. _What the hell is this kid made of?_

"Sanzoooo," Goku whined, tightening his grip so that it pained the blonde boy. "Don't make me leave. Pleeeaaase..."

Sanzo winced, narrowing his eyes at the boy. Goku wasn't looking at him; his eyes were clenched shut, as though he were afraid the blonde would gain strength and push him away if he saw him. The expression on the boy's face was just so... desperate. So stupid. He lost the will to fight the boy off any further.

Sighing in annoyance, Sanzo let his leg fall, his hands dropping from Goku. "God," he said disgustedly. "You're so pathetic." Goku just latched on to him tightly, burying his face into the older boy's chest. He was panting softly, probably from exertion, but his arms didn't slacken at all. Annoyed, Sanzo pushed at him. "All right! You can stay for now. Just let go. Jesus Christ," he grumbled.

Goku tightened his grip again, making Sanzo cringe, before he abruptly let go, smiling brightly. "Thanks, Sanzo! Can I have something to eat? I'm really hungry!"

With a firm push, Sanzo shut the door before turning back for the kitchen. "Didn't you eat at school?"

Goku followed him. "You expect me to like school lunches?"

Sanzo couldn't argue with that. He leaned back against the counter, eyes on the boy as Goku happily raided his fridge. As a thought occurred to him, Sanzo scowled and asked, "Don't you have any friends your own age?"

Goku paused, a carton of milk in one hand. He tilted his head at the blonde. "My own age?"

"Yes," Sanzo said impatiently. "Your own age. Thirteen. Twelve. Six."

Missing the barb, Goku shrugged and set the milk on the counter. "Got any cereal?"

Sanzo didn't ask questions; he simply pointed to a cupboard and watched the boy kick the refrigerator door shut before scrambling onto the counter to reach. Once Sanzo had shown him where the bowls and silverware were, Goku poured himself a bowl of apple cinnamon Cheerios and stood in the middle of the kitchen eating. After the first few spoonfuls he swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Used to." He resumed eating.

Sanzo frowned. "Used to?"

"Had a really good friend," Goku said when he was finished, setting the bowl into the sink. "We played a lot together. His dad didn't seem to like me that much, though..." He paused as though waiting for Sanzo to say something; when nothing was said, he went on. "His dad had a lot of cool things, though. He collected swords and knives and stuff from movies. He's got a really cool copy of some _Highlander_--"

"So what?" Sanzo cut in, impatient.

Goku frowned, but took the hint and went on. "Well, my friend and his dad... weren't really that close. Or something. That's what everyone told me, anyway. So... he sort of stabbed himself with one of the swords. I think there were other reasons why, but I don't..." He trailed off with another shrug.

Sanzo arched an eyebrow. "Aren't those made with dull edges?"

Goku shrugged. "I dunno. Guess his dad liked sharpening them."

"So he's dead, then?"

"No, but he's in a coma. Doctors said he hit something... vital." Goku frowned in thought. "I think."

Sanzo rolled his eyes, but was mildly disturbed by what Goku told him-- and morbidly fascinated. Attempted suicides were, after all, something he was interested in, among other things. He had nothing else to say. As though sensing it, Goku turned back to the refrigerator.

He cut his own search short. "Hey, Sanzo, can I see your room?"

"No." The response was out before Sanzo even thought about it; that was only natural. The last thing he wanted was some brat going through his things.

Goku frowned, but didn't press the subject. "I'm bored." Sanzo opened his mouth to retort, but Goku cut in. "Can we watch TV?"

Not having anything better to do, Sanzo sighed and lead the child to the living room.

~*~

Sanzo thought that perhaps after one visit Goku would realize how boring it would be to hang out with him. After all, kids wanted to have fun with older boys, not just go over to their house to watch television or eat. But Goku came nearly every day, and not once did he come when Sanzo's father was home. Coincidence? Sanzo doubted it, but he didn't want to know and thus didn't ask questions.

One particularly lazy weekend, exactly two weeks since their first meeting, Goku decided to reveal the first of his secrets.

Sanzo had been unprepared, but later marveled at how calm he had been. They had been in the living room as per usual -- Sanzo still refused to let the boy enter his room -- watching some Saturday morning cartoon. Well, Goku was watching; Sanzo had curled up on the opposite end of the couch with the newspaper, only half reading.

Goku's voice made him start. "Sanzo, can I trust you?"

"No," he said bluntly, not glancing up so as not to give away his surprise. "You can't really trust anyone, can you?" Goku nodded, falling silent, but only minutes later...  
"I wanna tell you something."

Sanzo sighed in annoyance. "Let's not even pretend I'll care, okay?"

"I really wanna show you something," Goku insisted. Sanzo didn't answer but did glare when the boy put his arm over the newspaper, blocking Sanzo's view. Sanzo was ready to retort, but the words died on his lips as his eyes focused on the boy's arm. The sleeve was pulled up, revealing a slightly tanned wrist crisscrossed with scars; some long, white and puckered, some thin, red and swollen. Sanzo stared, absolutely speechless.

Goku spoke again. "This is why I'm seeing the doctor. I haven't cut myself in a while, though."

Sanzo just stared.

Goku went on. "It's just this arm; I've never cut myself anywhere else. And there's not a lot, right? Just a few. I don't even do it that often." When Sanzo said nothing, he laughed. "What? Didn't you tell me you found this sort of thing interesting?"

He had once, in passing, but Goku hadn't seemed interested in it at the time. That was a big mistake, thinking that the brat was completely unobservant. At last, Sanzo tore his eyes away from the mutilated arm and raised them to the boy's face, meeting his gaze levelly.

"So?"

Goku tilted his head. "So what?"

Crossly, Sanzo asked, "What do you expect me to do about it? Tell someone?"

The boy grinned. "Do you want to?"

Sanzo rolled his eyes, pushing the boy back with his foot. "Didn't I tell you that you could only come over if you promised to be quiet? Shut up and leave me alone." Surprisingly, Goku didn't argue. He settled down at the end of the couch again, but when Sanzo looked up he noted the faint smile on the boy's lips.

_... Idiot._

~*~

Rain. There was rain everywhere, pouring relentlessly from black skies, splashing on his face, making his clothes stick to him. His vision was blurry for some reason, and there was the worst stabbing pain in his stomach, as though something long and sharp had been shoved all the way through him. His eyes clenched shut, his hand twitched on his abdomen, and there was a thick, wet, sticky sensation... somehow, without looking, he knew he was bleeding something fierce.

"Sanzo!"

The scream startled him, though it pained him to move. He had heard that scream before, only then it hadn't really had a sound. It had been more of a sensation; he could _feel_ the anguished scream more than he could hear it. But now it had a sound, a voice; a young voice, slightly throttled...

"_Sanzo!_"

It hurt. It hurt so bad, but he managed to crack an eye open. The lines were so fuzzy, and the rain suddenly wasn't falling in his face. There was something blocking it; something he couldn't make out. A flash of gold, a glimmer of bronze, lines of fear...

"_SANZO!_"

~*~

Sanzo awoke, a gasp half-formed in his throat before he choked on it. He doubled over instantly, his arms flying to his stomach and pressing hard against it. There was nothing but sweat there, but the pain was still fierce, burning through him. He could still feel the object lodged within him, and oh, did it hurt so badly. He grit his teeth over a whimper of pain, turning it into a strangled sound.

It still hurt. No matter how hard he pressed to stop the nonexistent bleeding, it still burned. It tore at him. He was aware of his panting, aware of the stinging tears falling from his eyes, tears he hated himself for shedding. But he couldn't reach up to wipe them away, lest the lack of pressure made him start bleeding again...

No! No, he wasn't bleeding! It had been just a dream, and nothing more. Just a dream.

But it felt so real...

_No!_

That was what had gotten him into trouble before; believing that the feelings were real. He had to ignore it, had to take his mind off it somehow. Yet he couldn't help but think of the dream, the rain, the blood on his fingers, the figure above him...

The boy.

The realization came with a start. It had been a boy; somehow he was dead certain of this. And the voice... the voice...

The more he thought about it, the less he could remember. It frustrated him, but somehow it _did_ lessen the pain in his stomach. Sanzo slowly began to relax, until at last he could fall back against the pillow and drift back to sleep.

~*~

Perhaps the dream had been a warning of sorts. By the time morning came Sanzo could only remember fragments of it, like the rain and some of the pain in his gut (which still ached a bit). But the voice had eluded him entirely and now he could only recall his name being screamed over and over.

It was a Friday, the last day of school for the week, and it happened in his Trigonometry class, during an important chapter exam. It took a few moments for anyone to notice anything was amiss; Sanzo was concentrating so much on his work that even he didn't feel anything was strange until he heard a sudden gasp. Something about it made him look up, toward the front door of the classroom, and then freeze.

As though following his example, many students also looked up. There was a roaring silence that made the blonde's ears ring, and then a sudden, shrill scream from the back of the room.

"Shut up!" The scream was cut off abruptly, but there was still some whimpering. The order had come from a young man in the doorway; he couldn't have been any older than sixteen. He stood right in the doorway, eyes hard but almost wild, staring at the class.

And he held a gun.

Silently, Sanzo berated the school security (or lack thereof) for letting something like this slip by them. He didn't recognize the boy; he had dark hair pulled back in a small ponytail at the nape of his neck, very pale skin, and there was a bruise around his left eye. His hands didn't shake at all when he aimed the gun at his classmates, the safety very likely off.

"Nobody move," he whispered. "Good... good... nobody move at all..."

Nobody moved. The girl in the back was trying to stifle her sobs, and Sanzo could hear the small sounds that indicated other girls -- and even boys -- were trying to do the same thing.

Cowards. They were all cowards. He stared blankly at the nameless boy in the doorway, his own gaze blank. For some reason it felt like he was watching a movie, because these things never happened in real life. Not in his life, anyway. No, these were things he read about.

Nobody even stirred, but the boy fired anyway. There was a loud, girlish scream of pain. Then another gunshot, and the room erupted in chaos.

Sanzo just stared.

It felt like a dream. He heard the gunshots, but not a single bullet hit him. He saw teachers come running, alerted by the noise, and restrain the boy. He saw one of the teachers get shot in the leg, saw the blood spill on the floor. He was still there when the ambulance came, rushing the injured students out. He even saw the police come, handcuffing the boy when he ran out of bullets, watched them lead him out of the room with tears streaming down his face.

But none of it felt real.

Needless to say, school was let out early that day.

~*~

"I heard about the shooting."

Sanzo didn't look away from the television; he wasn't really watching it, but he didn't want to look at the boy, either. He said nothing, and Goku seemed to take that as an invitation to go on. "I go to the middle school near yours, you know. And lotsa people heard gunshots. You weren't hurt, right?"

Sanzo rolled his eyes. "If I was, I'd be in the hospital instead of here."

"Guess so," Goku agreed. He must have shifted, because a socked foot accidentally kicked Sanzo in the thigh. He glared at the boy, and seeing the grin on his face he doubted the kick had really been an accident. "Did anyone die?"

Sanzo shrugged. "I think one person did."

"Who?"

"Who cares?"

Goku shrugged as well, not removing his eyes from the older boy. "I don't, I guess. Not really. I was just curious. I thought you liked that kinda stuff."

Sanzo scowled. "I don't like it. I'm just interested in it."

"Same thing."

"Is not."

"Is too." A soft rumble interrupted their childish argument, and Goku smiled sheepishly. "Ah... I'm kinda hungry..."

Scoffing, Sanzo turned away. "Go home, then."

"Don't wanna. Make dinner with me."

"Fuck off."

Goku kicked him, this time with clear intent. Opening his mouth to retort, Sanzo was interrupted quickly. "I don't wanna go home tonight."

How annoying. Scowling, Sanzo snapped, "And I care because...?"

"Just let me stay one night." Goku looked less confident as he drew his legs back, pulling them closer to his chest. "Or at least until after dinner. They'll be asleep then. Please..."

Sanzo hated to think of himself as weak, so he always did his best not to. No, he just saw this as the boy being too persistent, being so annoying that if Sanzo didn't give in, he would only get that much more annoying. Scoffing, he stood and headed for the kitchen. If Goku couldn't take the hint then he'd kick him out right there, no questions asked.

Goku seemed to understand. He quickly scrambled after the blonde.

It was only around five in the evening; Sanzo knew his father wouldn't be back for at least an hour. The brat better not have been expecting a gourmet meal or anything. He went straight for the refrigerator. "What kind of sandwich do you like?"

"Umm..." Goku's face screwed up in thought. "Dunno. Anything? Everything?"

Sanzo scoffed, pulling out a few various vegetables and meats, setting them on the counter. "Make your own, then." He went to the cupboard for the bread.

"Can I borrow a knife?"

"I don't care."

He probably should have expected it. He never should have forgotten the boy's secret. But he had, and so when he was unwrapping some ham, Sanzo looked up and found himself startled by what he saw. Only moments before Goku had been calmly cutting a tomato (quite messily at that) but now he was staring at his arm.

Sanzo moved, just slightly, and then he had a full view of the blood. The knife was held in the boy's right hand and blood was dripping down his arm from a thin cut. It seemed deep because it didn't stop bleeding after a few moments.

Goku glanced up at him, smiling. "It doesn't hurt. Not at all. And it's very pretty."

Sanzo said nothing, his gaze fixed on the boy as he stood in a sort of dreamlike daze. It faintly reminded him of how he'd felt at school.

"It just keeps coming and coming," the boy went on, his voice unnaturally soft. "Like it wants to get away from me. But then when too much of it gets away, my body gets scared and tries to stop it." He turned to Sanzo, setting the knife down. He touched his arm and when his fingers came back they were stained crimson. He approached the older boy, grabbing his arm and drawing a red line over his wrist. "You got veins right here, so when you cut here you bleed a lot. Even just a little cut." He raised his golden eyes, eyes that were frighteningly calm. "Don't ever do it without me, Sanzo."

Sanzo still said nothing.


	5. Chapter Four

**:: Double Suicide ::**

_Gensomaden__ Saiyuki_

Disclaimer: I don't own Gensomaden Saiyuki, which rightfully belongs to Minekura Kazuya.

Rating: R

Pairings: Sanzo/Goku

Warnings: AU, mild OOCness, language, yaoi, lime, mentioned death, cutting

Notes: Thanks for the reviews, as always, but I'd really like to thank Iapetus-san for her review a little while back. Reviews like that are extremely helpful in the way they let me know what I'm doing right. Also thanks to Selina-san for beta-ing from this chapter on, and for her running commentary via AIM that also let me know what I seem to be doing right.

And while I'm at it, I just want to recommend Iapetus's fic, _Somewhere I Belong_. (D-chan finds it amusing that she was listening to Linkin Park while reading that fic.) It's just been started, but she's got a great start and I think the fic will deserve more attention as she goes along.

Constructive criticism and feedback appreciated.

--

_Chapter Four_

After that things pretty much went back to normal. Goku wrapped his arm in a dish towel and finished making his sandwich -- lettuce, tomato, cheese, ham, turkey, and pretty much every condiment he could get his hands on -- and they ate dinner in silence. Sanzo had intended to send the boy home immediately afterwards but somehow it didn't go that way. He wasn't completely sure how it happened; he had been heading for the stairs, up to his room, and then the boy had asked as he always did. "Can I see your room?"

Normally Sanzo would brush the boy off with a cold refusal. In fact, that was what he was about to do when he opened his mouth without turning.

However, somehow, the word, "Fine," fell from his lips, and not the usual, "Fuck off."

It was stupid not to even pretend to change his mind and kick the boy out, but Sanzo kept quiet as Goku happily followed him up the stairs and to his room. Inside he turned on his laptop -- which, ironically enough, had started working again on its own the other day -- and logged on to the internet. From the corner of his eye he saw Goku walking around, poking through places that held nothing of interest. In moments he was on the young man's bed, and Sanzo didn't even look back.

Sanzo immediately began his usual search and started reading, finding he could almost ignore the boy as he did so. Slowly, gradually, he began to relax, and after a while he even forgot Goku was there... even forgetting that this sort of silence should have been disturbing.

Until Goku reminded him.

"When's your dad coming back?"

Sanzo scowled, his concentration broken. His eyes darted to the tiny clock at the bottom corner of his screen; he was startled to find it had been nearly an hour since they had come upstairs. He frowned and muttered, "Don't know. If he's not back now, probably in the morning..."

The boy leaned over his chair. "Mmm... good." Sanzo shot him a look, but the golden eyes were fixed on the laptop. "Looks kinda boring to me. Too many words."

"That's because you're an idiot," Sanzo said flatly. "Now get off."

"No... I'm bored," Goku said quietly, resting his chin on the blonde's shoulder. Scowling, Sanzo tried to shrug him off, but that only caused the boy's chin to dig deeper into the sensitive junction between his neck and shoulder. He cringed.

"Get. Off. Me," he grated out. Goku shook his head before moving back. Rolling his eyes, Sanzo started to concentrate on the screen but a sudden touch on his thigh made him jump. He jerked back with an undignified yelp, his arm flying up to smack the boy away. "What are you doing?" he demanded, trying desperately to ignore the faint tingles where the boy's hand had been.

Goku leaned forward, his small hands on the blonde's knees. He leaned until their foreheads were nearly touching, his expression unusually solemn. "Sanzo," he said quietly. "I really do like you, but I hate it when you think too much."

"What--"

Goku shut him up effectively, leaning forward and pressing his childish lips to Sanzo's, kissing with an intensity no little boy should have had. And Sanzo knew he _should_ have pushed the boy away, and that he _should_ have kicked him out then and there, and that he _should _have thrown him out the window for doing such a stupid thing...

But he didn't.

In fact, he had the stupidest reaction of them all.

Sanzo jerked the boy forward, practically forcing Goku to crawl onto his lap as he kissed back. He was inexperienced and didn't want to know if Goku was or not; he just knew that the sensations he was getting were similar -- achingly similar -- to the ones he got when he woke up after a surprisingly hot dream. Goku didn't seem to mind. His hands were all over the older youth, quickly moving from his thighs to his chest and finally around his neck, tangling in his hair. Soon enough Goku was whimpering; whether he needed air or was just enjoying himself, Sanzo neither knew nor cared.

He jerked a bit when Goku's knee slid between his legs, moaning softly as the contact sent more tingles of pleasure down his spine. He bit at the boy and Goku didn't even complain. It was uncomfortable in the chair though, and somehow they found themselves on the floor, melting into it, hands in various places, clothes tangled, harsh breathing...

It was completely surreal, but it didn't feel wrong at all.

"Sanzo," the boy moaned softly, squirming as he was forced to roll over. Sanzo knew he was probably ruining Goku's clothes by tearing them off so fast but couldn't bring himself to care. Goku didn't seem to mind; somehow he ended up on his back, arching against the older boy and crying out too loudly with his childish voice. People must have heard him all the way in town... all the way to the psychiatrist's office, even.

By the time the screams and moans died down Sanzo was exhausted, unable to pick himself from the floor to crawl to bed. Goku had the audacity to throw an arm over him, nuzzling his chest, and Sanzo was far too tired to push him off.

"Brat," he muttered.

"Mm," was the boy's only reply. As he eagerly accepted sleep, Sanzo's last thought was that he was grateful for the habit of locking his bedroom door at night.

When he woke up it was early morning. Sanzo rubbed his eyes blearily, inwardly cursing and wondering why his stomach was so sore. It was only a few brief seconds before something shifted against him and everything came flooding back. He was still for a few minutes, not from shock but searching for a reaction, any reaction. In the end he grew frustrated at the lack of having one, so he shoved the boy off.

"Ugh," Goku grunted, groaning and rolling over, curling into himself. "No... still tired..."

"Stupid," Sanzo muttered, sitting up.

The moment he had his clothes on however, Goku reached out and clasped his fingers in the older boy's pants leg. "No," he muttered, sounding far too exhausted even after what had happened. "Don't go..."

Sanzo scowled. "Let go."

"Don't go," the boy mumbled, tugging on the pants. "Don't..."

"Let go."

"Need..." Goku sighed a little, shifting closer without opening his eyes. "Need... you... with me... need..."

It was just as stupid -- or even worse -- than his decision to have sex with the boy. But Sanzo gave in, sitting down on the floor and watching Goku crawl to lie more comfortably in his lap, one arm encircling him and the other draped over his leg.

"You wouldn't leave," Goku murmured, cuddling into him like a small child seeking comfort. "I know it..."

Sanzo said nothing.

~*~

It wasn't the best of ideas to get out of bed still feeling so tired, but Sanzo had the worst feeling that if he didn't get away from the boy soon he'd do something stupid... like molest him again. _That_, right now, was the last thing he wanted. So once Goku had fallen into a childishly deep sleep, he untangled himself from the boy and went to find his practice rounds.

He paused to grab some discarded beer cans from his father's room. They made fairly good targets, and though he didn't seem to mind his own mess Sanzo's father had never once complained.

His father had done nicely in buying him new blanks; there were enough to keep him busy for a few hours of shooting, should he choose to. Sanzo usually set the gun aside until he had the targets set up, but this time was different. Somehow knowing that Goku was just inside made him wary of putting it down at all. Instead he tucked the weapon into his belt before taking the mostly crumpled and crushed cans out a good distance, setting them up in erratic order.

Soon enough he was at a good distance, eyeing the various rocks and stumps he'd placed his targets. His gaze was steady as he brought the gun up, firing the first round. The sound was loud and sharp, somehow pleasant to hear.

He heard the soft rustle of grass behind him, but not once did he pause in his firing. Not even when Goku was close enough to touch him shoulder-to-elbow did he move, though it was taking all the control he had not to give the idiot a good smack on the head.

Goku waited until he paused between round to speak. "You're good."

"Hmph." Sanzo reloaded the gun, bringing it up again and narrowing his eyes on one of the further targets. The can went flying with a metallic _snap_ with one shot.

"Bet you'd make a good policeman."

"Wouldn't know," was the short reply. The farthest target had been the flattest can Sanzo could find, laid down flat on a faraway stump. He narrowed his eyes at it, steadying the gun, but he didn't quite fire yet.

"Bet you could kill people real easy."

Sanzo nearly faltered at the statement, but managed to relax his grip on the gun so he wouldn't be gripping it so tightly. He didn't want to shake and miss the target. "Maybe."

"Are those real bullets?"

"No."

Goku walked around to his other side. Sanzo could practically hear him swaying on his feet. "What are they?"

"Blanks."

"What're those?"

"Fake bullets." Sanzo was quickly getting impatient. "Shut up and go away."

Goku did fall quiet for a few moments, but he had one last thing to say. "Bet you could shoot yourself real easy, too..." Without a word, Sanzo fired. The can went flying straight back, crashing into a tree just behind it.

Somehow it made him think of a person being shoved back after being shot.

Somehow he found intense satisfaction in such imagery...

~*~__

"Fuck!"

The loud thud that followed the expletive was his fist hitting the wall. All he got for that was the worst stinging sensation in his knuckles, but moments later it was drowned out in white-hot self-hatred. Sanzo slammed his other fist into the wall, cursing more from frustration than pain.

_Fucking hell.__ Fucking _hell_!_ he thought angrily, pounding the wall a few more times. Only when the skin was raw and bleeding on his right hand did he stop, wincing from the pain. It had helped him calm down a little, but it wasn't enough.

_I slept with a kid. A goddamn kid. And _that_ brat, of all the ones!_ Sanzo ran his uninjured hand through his hair, disheveling the blonde locks as he tried to calm himself. He ended up gripping a fistful of hair tightly, muttering senselessly to himself. Never mind that the sleep afterwards had been the most relaxing he'd had in years; never mind that not once did the phantom dreams haunt him the entire day Goku had been over; he was still furious.

And his hand was dripping blood on the carpet. Grimacing, Sanzo made his way to the bathroom. It was a painful, stinging process, but he managed to cleanse the scrapes, disinfect them, and wrap his hand with some bandages from the emergency kit hidden in the hallway closet. He was surprised they even had one.

By then he had managed to calm down considerably. Sanzo went downstairs; it was already late afternoon. Goku had left only seconds before his explosion, and until that point Sanzo hadn't realized how much his frustration had been building. It was almost as though Goku's being there had kept his anger not only in check, but tucked away and almost forgotten about.

Which meant that he was getting used to the boy... or even worse, that he was beginning to get attached.

Fuck.

He couldn't get attached. He just couldn't. The last time that had happened it had ended horribly... and he'd lost the person most precious to him. Not his mother, since he could hardly remember the last time he'd seen her, and certainly not his father.

It was closer to his teacher, from when he had been barely out of elementary school. It was hard enough for him to make friends, let alone friends that were nearly three times his age, but that man had been the one closest to him, the one he'd cared about more.

Sanzo didn't want to lose someone the same way he'd lost Koumyou. Ever. It was bad enough Koumyou had even died, but everyone had the misconception it had been a suicide attempt.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts, Sanzo stalked off to the shower. With the boy gone he was very self-conscious of his body. He hadn't showered afterwards and he felt he needed one now. Badly.

"Damn kid," he muttered to himself, shaking his stinging hand as he stalked to the bathroom, only pausing to grab a towel. "Damn, fucking, stupid little brat..."

It was always the stupid ones that fucked everything up.

~*~

For the week that followed his life almost seemed to fall back into its usual routine-- the one before he'd met Goku. Sanzo went to school, put up with things there, came home, put up with his father, did some morbid research each night, and only retired to bed after that. There were, of course, the occasional psychiatrist visits, but he never once saw the scruffy brat there.

It was annoying how Sanzo found it unnerving.

It was even more annoying that, when the boy finally did show up, Sanzo found that his first reaction was to feel a twinge of relief. His second and much more understandable reaction was to be skeptical of the boy's appearance.

"No," he said flatly, his feet firmly planted in the doorway.

Goku pouted up at him. "Why not?"

"Because. You're a complete and total bloody mess."

Goku blinked, glancing down at his hands as though just realizing he was splattered with blood from head to toe. He paused before looking up sheepishly. "It's not as bad as it looks... really..."

Rolling his eyes Sanzo stepped aside, letting the boy in. Goku immediately went toward the kitchen but for once didn't raid the refrigerator; he actually took the time to stop and strip of his bloody clothes to soak them in cold water. Sanzo didn't object. He never left any of the curtains or blinds open, few people drove by this isolated house anyway, and his father wasn't due back for quite a few hours.

And somewhere deep inside he was extremely relieved to find he wasn't sexually aroused to find the boy standing half naked in his kitchen, open for molestation should he choose to.

Not that he would anymore.

"I got in a fight," Goku admitted without Sanzo's asking. He leaned against the counter, shoulders drawn up and his eyes glancing up sheepishly. "Dumb kid at school made a crack about my friend--"

"The comatose one?"

"Yeah." Goku nodded, his eyes lowering as he toyed with something in his small hands. Frowning, Sanzo glanced down to see what it was, but it was a little difficult to tell from the distance he was at and from the boy's fingers constantly moving and blocking whatever it was too efficiently. "So I punched him in the nose." He grinned, looking very pleased with himself. "He bled all over me. That's what most of the blood is."

"And the rest?" the blonde asked dryly.

"He got me too," Goku said simply, pointing to his bloody forehead. Most of the blood was dry, at least, and Sanzo really wished he would hurry up and wash his face and hands off because the dried blood stench was starting to get to him. "Dumb jerk threw a rock at me. It hurt."

Scoffing, Sanzo folded his arms over his chest, glancing down again. The boy's hands had stilled enough for him to catch a glimpse of what he was holding.

_... what the hell is he doing with that?_

If Goku realized that Sanzo knew what he was holding, he didn't say anything. "I didn't wanna go home," he was saying, causing Sanzo to raise his eyes again. "Momma would get super, ultra mad if I got the carpet bloody again."

"Again?" Sanzo repeated, only to be reminded a second later of the boy's scars. He fell silent, trying not to stare at the marks crisscrossing on the boy's arm.

Goku smiled. "Bet you've never tried it."

"Tried what?" Sanzo asked flatly. "Cutting myself?"

"That," the boy agreed. "But also... killing yourself."

The blonde stared, trying to summon a reaction. After floundering for a while he finally manage to find something, though it wasn't exactly a clever or even smart reaction. "Suicide?"

Goku nodded, lowering his eyes again. "Sometimes... when it hurts too much... you wanna let go," he said softly, so quiet that Sanzo actually had to move closer to hear him. "And it doesn't really hurt... you cut the right place, the blood just gushes out and out, and it's goin' too fast so you can't feel any pain." He paused, startling Sanzo with a surprisingly creepy smile. "Until they stop the blood and wrap your arms up. Then it hurts so bad."

Sanzo licked his lips, finding he was growing morbidly fascinated. "How many times did you try it?"

The brunette frowned as though trying to remember. "I guess... maybe just once," he finally said. Golden eyes flickered up again. "Yeah. Once. I want the second try to work."

Frowning, Sanzo said slowly, "So you're going to try again." Goku just nodded. "Why the hell are you telling me?" he demanded. "I could go tell anyone now-- your parents, the psychiatrist... I could ruin your plans and make you hate me forever, you goddamn brat. I should," he added scathingly. "I think I will. It might get you away from me."

"You can't." Violet eyes narrowed on the boy's smile. "Because when they see this they won't believe you because they won't ever, ever trust you again."

And then, before Sanzo could back away, Goku lunged forward, his tiny hand clasping Sanzo's wrist. Later Sanzo would realize that he _could_ have pulled away, that he _should_ have beaten the brat over the head for doing something so damned stupid, but he didn't. He hadn't. He just stood there, staring as the tiny blade slid over his skin. He flinched, of course, his fingers twitching as faint pain throbbed through his veins, but it wasn't nearly as bad as he'd read about.

For a good few seconds both boys stood there; Goku's breathing a bit heavy, his golden eyes fixated on the red beading on Sanzo's arm and slowly dripping down to the floor. Sanzo stared with equal but different fascination. It wasn't bad at all; it hardly hurt, and it looked like little more than a scratch. It probably was just that, because the blood stopped trying to escape almost instantly.

At last Sanzo wrenched his hand back, flexing his wrist a bit. "Finish washing your clothes," he said flatly. "Or there'll be bad bloodstains on them after they're dried."

Goku gave him a knowing look before he smiled broadly, looking too childish for someone that had just sliced a person they considered their friend open. "Okay," he said cheerfully, closing the pocketknife and setting it on the table before bouncing back over to the sink, humming some off-tune ditty. Sanzo shook his head, glancing down and flexing his wrist absently again.

About half an hour later found the two in their usual positions on the living room; Goku sprawled over the couch and watching cartoons, Sanzo curled up on the other side reading the paper. He couldn't focus properly and kept moving his cut arm, absently reassuring himself that the mark was real, and so was the minimal pain that did little more than annoy him slightly.

Goku squirmed on his end of the couch, shifting so that he was half hanging over the side. "Heeeey," he whined. "When're my clothes gonna be dryyy? Your house is cooooold."

"Probably another half hour," Sanzo muttered. "Now shut the hell up."

The boy squirmed more, kicking at the cushions. Sanzo glared at him, but the boy couldn't see him because his head was facing the wall. "I'm bored."

"Not my problem," the blonde said.

"I wanna have fun."

"If you mean fun like the other day, then you can fuck off somewhere else," Sanzo said tightly. "I never intend on doing that again. Now shut the hell up or walk home naked."

That seemed effective enough. Goku fell silent and all Sanzo heard for the next hour was the blaring of cartoons and commercials. When the dryer buzzed loudly, signaling Goku's clothes were done, the brunette got up silently and went to get his things. Sanzo dismissed him for the moment, not even glancing up when Goku came back fully clothed.

"I'm gonna go home now," the boy said, smiling brightly. Sanzo noted this from the corner of his eye. "Bye, Sanzo!"

"Hnm," was his only response. Moments later the door shut-- or rather, slammed, as Goku couldn't seem to figure out how to open or close something without ripping or attempting to rip the hinges off.

Sighing in annoyance, Sanzo rubbed his arm.


	6. Chapter Five

**:: Double Suicide ::**

_Gensomaden__ Saiyuki_

Disclaimer: I don't own Gensomaden Saiyuki, which rightfully belongs to Minekura Kazuya.

Rating: R

Pairings: Sanzo/Goku

Warnings: AU, mild OOCness, language, attempted suicide, yaoi

Notes: As always, thanks for the reviews so far. D-chan's not in a good mood as she's writing these notes, so she's just going to say thank you and that constructive criticism and feedback is muchly appreciated.

--

_Chapter Five_

_"See you later."_

Simple. Casual. Not unusual at all. It was a phrase used by everyone at some point, one used so often it never really dawned on most just how powerful those three words were. It implied that you _did_ expect to see this person again later. And normally you would.

But there were always the exceptions.

That was something he learned the hard way, as the exceptions always did.

Probably what angered him most was that he hadn't learned of it until nearly a week after it had happened. Sure, he had wondered where his older friend was, and yes, he had been worried... but instances had happened before. Put simply, this friend was known for being a little accident prone. He was only middle-aged, but sometimes seemed as frail as any old person. He never had learned why; perhaps a disease of some sort, or something bad inherited.

All Sanzo was dead certain of was that Koumyou's death had _not_ been suicide. Some people speculated because he kept to himself, because he was so different, even a little eccentric... but those were the narrow-minded idiots that seemed intent on pissing Sanzo off.

For some reason those memories had been on his mind again. It had to have been sheer coincidence because of the timing. It simply had to be. Sanzo refused to believe there was something stronger behind this.

The phone call seemed harmless enough. Sanzo answered after the second ring, sensing who it was even before the usual flat, "What the hell do you want now?" slipped out.

Goku sounded just as he always did: happy and stupid. "Nothing. Just to talk. You can talk, right?"

Sanzo rolled his eyes, glancing at the unwanted history assignment on his desk before muttering, "I do have better things to do."

"But you don't wanna do them," Goku said simply. "I know you that well."

"Hmph."

So the first ten minutes found Sanzo just leaning back in his chair, only half listening to any of the babble that fell out of the boy's mouth. He had a strange knack for being able to tune in just when something important or the main idea was going to be said, which was especially helpful during boring classroom lectures. He just listened to the familiar buzz of Goku's voice while the unoccupied portion of his thoughts grew frustrated over his damned report.

However, eventually he realized that something was wrong. The report gradually slipped from his mind as he started to note something; strange, slightly heavy breathing.

"What are you doing?" he suddenly demanded, the outburst so abrupt that it seemed to succeed in startling Goku. There was a long stretch of silence, then childish laughter.

"You noticed," Goku said approvingly, which just got on Sanzo's nerves. "See... I had an idea. I called you for a reason."

"I'd certainly hope so," Sanzo said irritably. "Otherwise you're just wasting my time."

Goku gave another boyish laugh, a laugh that immediately clashed with the next words that fell from his mouth. "It's in my hand right now, slipping down. If you don't hurry I'll bleed to death."

Sanzo went still, not sure he heard right. "What?"

There was a soft whimper, one that he had the sickening feeling was far from fake. "Ten minutes. I'll give you ten minutes to find my house before I do it, Sanzo."

His grip on the phone tightened. "What the fuck are you saying, you goddamn brat?" He was keenly aware that his voice had an unnaturally rough edge to it. "You've giving me ten minutes to find your house when I have no fucking idea where you _live_?"

"You can do it," the boy encouraged, hissing sharply. "If you want to. If not, it's okay. I'm the one ready to leave, after all. Nine minutes."

And with that he hung up.

Sanzo blinked, barely staring for a second before he was on his feet, tossing the cordless phone to his bed as he shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers, cursing a certain idiotic boy beneath his breath. It could have been a bluff, probably _was_ a bluff...

But he was scared.

_Damn,_ he thought in disgust, not even bothering to lock the door as he ran out. _I'll find him, but then I'll kill the stupid monkey myself!_

It was completely ridiculous. Goku thought he could give Sanzo a time limit to find a house he didn't even know the location of! It was beyond ridiculous; it was damned _insane_.

_Though that would explain why he sees a psychiatrist in the first place..._

He didn't even use his car, knowing he could move faster on his feet. Sanzo really had no idea where to begin, except...

_The park._

He hadn't even grabbed his watch so he had no idea how much time he had to waste. All Sanzo could think of was beating the boy's face in when he finally _did_ find him. If he wasn't already dead, first.

_But in that case I'd just have to bring him back so I can kill him with my bare hands,_ he thought grimly. He still had no idea where to go. Goku had never mentioned his house; Sanzo didn't even know if he had any siblings. The kid had parents, obviously, because _someone_ had to be making him visit the psychiatrist...

Sanzo didn't even realize he was already past the park and on the doorstep until he was turning the knob and pushing the front door open. It was unlocked. This could very well be breaking and entering, trespassing on top of that, and he'd barely even glanced at the house before running inside. There was no way he could be right on the first try.

One glance at the clock in the hallway told him he only had a minute left, presuming their clocks were set about the same.

"You damn brat," he snarled. "Where the hell are you hiding?"

It didn't take him long to find the bedroom; the house was a one story building, fairly small in comparison to where Sanzo lived. It was the first room to his left down the hallway, and the door was shut tight. His chest feeling strangely tight, Sanzo turned the knob and slammed the door open.

Goku stared at him from his place on the bed, looking surprised. The blade in his hand was dripping with blood, crimson staining his arms and jeans. He seemed pale already, was trembling as though he'd already lost so much blood.

Then he suddenly smiled. It was weak compared to his normal smiles, and a lot more helpless than Sanzo was used to.

"You came," the boy murmured. "I really wasn't... sure..." The knife slipped from his grasp, clattering to the hardwood floor as he collapsed against the bed.

Wordlessly, Sanzo went to find a towel.

~*~

By the time the boy had regained consciousness again Sanzo had managed to stop the bleeding and wrap up his wrists. He hadn't bothered to move Goku much, so he was still sprawled on his bed when the golden eyes slowly blinked open. Gingerly, Goku pushed himself into a sitting position. From his wince Sanzo judged that his slashed wrists hurt.

"You're damned lucky," the blonde said quietly, "that you don't know how to properly cut your wrists."

The boy gave him a bleary look. He didn't seem sorry for what he'd done at all and only said on a sleep-slurred, confused voice, "I do... I showed you once... here..." He made small motions with his hands, over the bandages Sanzo had wrapped his arms in. The movement made him flinch.

Sanzo shifted from his place against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. "You forget that I've done research," he reminded the boy gruffly. "You got some veins, but nothing serious. You moron."

"Eh heh..." Goku rubbed some tiredness from his eyes, grinning. Even now he could pull off that expression. It was creeping Sanzo out again. "Well. Maybe third time's the charm, then."

That did it. "Why the fuck are you so eager to die?" Sanzo demanded loudly, pushing himself away from the wall. "You're only fucking twelve! What the hell is so bad with _your_ life that you want to kill yourself?!" He was faintly aware that his voice was growing a few octaves too high but by then was too wrapped up in venting to care. "Anything that's wrong with you... you live in a place like this, and it's fucking clean, and you have two parents who apparently care about you enough to even bother _sending_ you to a goddamn psychiatrist to get you help-- what the hell's wrong with you?!"

Goku didn't flinch once. "You're right," he agreed quietly. "Unlike your father, my parents love me... or they try to pretend, at least." His eyes lowered. "Some lives ain't worth it." When Sanzo simply stared, he added in lower tones, "Nataku died."

Sanzo didn't have to ask to understand. Nataku was the friend Goku had mentioned a few times, the comatose one. It wasn't hard to piece together; why else would the brat bother mentioning him?

"Someday... soon... I wanna join him." Goku looked straight up at him, for once his expression holding nothing but seriousness. "Will you go with me?"

The blonde said nothing. He quietly weighed his options, and when he thought about it later he would find little surprise that he actually seriously considered the boy's offer.

"If you don't got any place to go," Goku continued, leaning forward anxiously. "Come with me?" He didn't say please, but Sanzo could hear it in his voice, especially in the particular way he phrased the question.

And then, very slowly, he nodded.

~*~__

_What did I do?_

Sanzo lay numbly in his own bed, head and arm on his pillow as he stared blankly at the wall, not really seeing it, barely hearing the noises he was accustomed to hearing his father and whatever casual lover he had make.

_Suicide._

Something he now knew for sure Goku had and would willingly commit again. The idea iced his insides at first, but when he thought about it, thought about the freedom of the psychiatrist visits, his father, the monotonous life he didn't feel he was going anywhere in...

_No wonder._

He rolled over on his bed restlessly. A part of him was squirming inside, insisting that the suicide agreement was a bad idea, probably the stupidest thing he'd ever agreed to go along with. But another, much darker side was giving a much simpler argument: that it was the most painless way out.

Rubbing his forehead, Sanzo swung his feet over the edge of the bed, deciding he'd get very little sleep tonight. He had an appointment with the psychiatrist the next day and knew Dr. Nemo would probably take note if he looked exhausted, but decided he could tell the most vague yet simplest, most easily-accepted answer there was: that he'd had insomnia.

No need to tell the man he had also been doing research on different suicide attempts.

Sanzo found the subject quite easily; suicide seemed to be a fascinating topic that people never tired of dissecting. The biggest problem was finding different _methods_ rather than different stories of each pathetic child.

There was the obvious, of course. Goku had tried cutting his wrists, but unless you did it properly it would be too easy to chicken out and stop the bleeding. Sanzo didn't really fancy the idea of jumping off a huge building and crushing his head on the sidewalk. For one it seemed awfully messy; for another there was always that chance of landing wrong and only ending up with a broken leg or something.

There was always drug overdose, but that, too, could be backed out of quickly just by calling the ambulance and telling them what you'd done. _Unless we take cyanide or something,_ Sanzo thought absently. _Though it might be hard to get something that powerful that works that quickly..._

And then, of course, there was the method he currently found most comfortable. A simple, quick shot to the head.

It was certainly something to think about.

~*~

Again with the warm office. Again with the lack of air conditioning. The stuffy office was the same as always, and that afternoon it found Sanzo sprawled across the couch as he waited yet again for his appointment.

He'd only seen Goku once since the phone call incident. The boy seemed a lot more solemn -- _Must be his friend's death,_ Sanzo reasoned -- and completely serious about the double suicide.

_"You really wanna go through it with me?"_

_Sanzo frowned slightly. "It's not like I have anything better going on in this shithole." And really, he had nothing tying him down. Everything seemed to only get worse the older he got. As soon as he was eighteen his father would happily kick him out, since he _would_ be of legal age, and then... well, Sanzo didn't know what then. And he found that he really didn't care._

_With an exceptionally large grin, Goku sat up from his half-lying position on the other end of the couch. "Good. Any ways you dun wanna go?"_

_Immediately, Sanzo said in a clipped voice, "Cutting. I'd rather not bleed to death, thanks."_

_Goku made a face. "But I don't have any other way... I can get to knives easily, but finding a good place to jump is hard, and rope... and guns..."_

_The only noise was from the random sound effects on the television. Sanzo was staring at the boy without seeing him, but he dimly knew that Goku was watching him intently, expecting something..._

_And Sanzo wasn't even sure he should say what he had in mind. However, he found his mouth opening and his voice saying in an off-handed, uncaring tone, "Guns aren't a problem for me."_

_When his eyes focused again Goku was still watching him... and now he was smiling._

_"Okay," he said softly. "Sounds good."_

"Genjo Sanzo." The secretary's voice was like a jolt, but Sanzo's body language hardly portrayed it aside from his eyes widening a bit. He tilted his head to look at her impassively and she went on, "Dr. Nemo will be seeing you in just a minute."

Sanzo nodded and sat up, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the back of the couch in a far more proper manner. His eyes had long left the woman for the door, expecting the psychiatrist's patient -- probably Goku, even -- to walk out any moment.

He'd been ready for anything but the sudden violent scream. Somehow that scream made him stand up before he realized what he was doing. The door was flung open, and sure enough the figure that darted out was Goku. He ran straight to Sanzo, fairly tackling the blonde to the floor. Sanzo was too surprised to do more than grab the boy, only dimly noticing the pain that resulted from his back connecting to the thinly carpeted floor.

"I won't go!" he heard Goku shrieking, his small but amazingly strong fingers digging into Sanzo's skin. It felt like the boy's nails hadn't been clipped in a while, making Sanzo wince inwardly. "I won't, I won't! Sanzo, don't let them!"

He didn't have to ask what the boy was talking about to understand. Sanzo immediately got to his feet, dragging a hysterical Goku up with him. From the corner of his eye he saw Dr. Nemo moving toward them and in that moment he acted.

Without so much as a word Sanzo turned and ran for the door, his hand firmly grasping Goku's wrist. Goku seemed to be tyring to stifle terrified sobs that Sanzo knew he would have to question later... if they could make it out. They were out the door and down the hallway before the doctor could stop them. But, of course, that hardly meant they were about to get away without any trouble.

In a sort of double vision Sanzo saw himself running down a corridor, one similar to the one he knew he was physically in but much darker. In the real world and in his mind he could hear lighter footsteps scrambling to keep up with him. They were the desperate steps of a companion, not a pursuer, and Sanzo instinctively knew it was Goku.

By now it was more than likely the doctor had called security and given them the description of the runaway patient-- or rather, patients. Sanzo had the distinct feeling he would be under critical watch if they were caught. Goku, on the other hand... he would be put right into a straightjacket and sent off to the nearest rehabilitation center.

Trying an elevator was a bad idea; that would only trap them. At this point the stairs weren't much better, as he was fairly certain men would be positioned at every entrance even if they _did_ manage to find one unblocked.

Which basically meant they had to find a good place to hide.

Sanzo ducked into the first room he found, yanking the boy in with him and slamming the door shut. Only when they were inside did he take a good look around. It seemed to be a meeting room of sorts, with a long table, several chairs, and whiteboards all around the room. It had no windows near the door, likely so that anyone looking in from outside wouldn't disturb an important meeting inside. The only window was a large one that looked over the two stories outside. Sanzo pulled the boy back with him against a wall, dragging them down into a sitting position on the floor. Sanzo only heard his breathing for a few seconds; it took him that long to realize his fast his heart was racing and that his face was flushed... from excitement? Fear? No... but then what?

Goku clung to him, his sobs already dying down. Sanzo was mildly impressed but didn't say anything, listening for any other sounds and watching the door intently.

"He saw my arm," the boy finally whispered hoarsely. "He saw. I can't go back, Sanzo... I can't... and I can't go home..."

"You can't come with me," he said roughly, his voice still hushed. "My house is the second place they'll look, right after yours."

Goku was already pushing away from him, huddling into himself on the floor. "I can't go back," he said, his voice a bit weak. "I can't... I haven't... we haven't..." He swallowed, his small fists clenching. "We gotta do it... can we do it here? Find something... anything! Now!" He got to his feet, golden eyes looking for anything. There were nothing but chairs and markers, not even a sharp pencil for him to use.

Then his gaze fell on the window, giving Sanzo a cold chill.

The instant Goku started running Sanzo was also moving. Goku was already on his feet, taking the advantage with him, but Sanzo was far from being unable to do anything about it. He pushed himself up violently, launching at the boy and tackling him into the chairs. Hard wood crashed down on them, followed by Goku's screams. Sanzo clamped a hand over the boy's mouth, receiving an unexpected, sharp bite. With a loud curse he tore his hand free, smacking Goku soundly on the head. "Shut up! You're going to get us caught!"

"Why are you stopping me?!" Goku shrieked, writhing violently. It was all Sanzo could do to keep his arms wrapped around the boy; his grip wasn't even entirely secure. "You're just like the others! Let me go! _Let me go!_"

"If you jump you'll ruin everything!" Sanzo's voice was barely above a whisper, but the sound got to Goku and made him freeze for a precious second. In that second Sanzo adjusted his grip, holding onto the boy firmly and saying in a tight voice, "If you jump you might miss. You'll break an arm or a leg or just paralyze yourself. We're not nearly high enough for a suicide attempt. So shut your damn mouth and let me get us out of this, you damn monkey!"

Goku grew quiet enough for Sanzo to loosen his hold. Almost immediately Goku was moving again, and Sanzo had to move quickly to grab his arm in case he was still thinking of jumping. Instead he found Goku leaning over him, pressing childish lips to his insistently, obviously a desperate attempt for comfort. Despite himself and the situation Sanzo allowed him to do it, doing nothing more than gripping the boy's arms tightly.

The twist of the doorknob made him shove the boy away. The person that entered, however, wasn't a security guard or an employee at all, but a middle-age woman with black hair and dull-looking gray eyes.

She turned her gaze on the boys, her voice unsurprised and tired-sounding. "Goku. That's enough. Let's go home."

_His mother,_ Sanzo knew instinctively.

Goku, however, didn't seem happy to see her-- and Sanzo wasn't at all startled when the boy decided to latch on to him rather than obey his mother.

She shook her head, looking at Sanzo. "Who are you?"

"Not his friend," he replied flatly. "Just someone he knows."

"You might as well come, then, since he obviously won't listen to me." She sounded as though she put up with this annoying behavior every day and was positively exhausted from it. When neither boy moved, she went on. "I give you my word neither of you will be taken anywhere but home."

Sanzo frowned, not at all ready to trust someone's simple word. He reached down, his hand slipping into Goku's pocket. The boy made a surprised sound, his face reddening a bit. _Idiot,_ Sanzo scoffed, pulling his hand out and flipping open the pocketknife he had recovered, holding the blade to Goku's throat and meeting the woman's eyes levelly.

"You better," he said flatly, the blade poking into Goku's skin. He could tell the boy was flinching, but Goku didn't seem ready to scream or protest. "Or I _will_ kill him."

She did flinch a bit, taken aback, but in the end agreed. Sanzo closed the pocketknife, keeping the small object in his hand and ready to use. It didn't escape her notice, which was good. That meant she wasn't likely to do anything stupid.

Even during the entire car ride back to Goku's house, all the boy did was continue clinging to his saviour.


	7. Chapter Six

**:: Double Suicide ::**

_Gensomaden__ Saiyuki_

Disclaimer: I don't own Gensomaden Saiyuki, which rightfully belongs to Minekura Kazuya.

Rating: R

Pairings: Sanzo/Goku

Warnings: AU, slight OOCness, cutting, yaoi, lime

Notes: As I write these notes I am sick but listening to my brand new _Saiyuki RELOAD image album 1_. Is a shiny CD and I love it muchly. I foresee much listening this spring break...

Lemon to this chapter hasn't been written yet, and I'm behind on updating this on AFFN. But when it is up that's where you'll find it. The link to my account is in my profile. Hopefully it'll be up by the end of this week, since it's my spring break.

Constructive criticism and feedback appreciated. Sankyuu.

--

_Chapter Six_

It was impossible to have the boy committed without parental consent, and of course Goku's mother hadn't given any. Sanzo wasn't sure if it was because of his threat to kill her son or simply that she had been threatened at all. Whatever the reason, it had worked, and now he found himself back at the boy's house.

"Be grateful your father isn't home," Goku's mother was saying dully as she moved around the kitchen. She appeared to be making dinner, but from the frozen food Sanzo had glimpsed he could guess it was a half-hearted attempt to make herself as busy as possible without really doing anything. He wondered if she suffered some sort of lack of emotion disorder. _Look that up later,_ he decided.

Once inside she had waved the two boys into the kitchen. Sanzo had the feeling that if he hadn't complied Goku wouldn't have, either. The boy was very quiet, disturbingly so, and he kept clinging to something of Sanzo's-- his shirt, an arm, his wrist, anything he could grab a hold of.

And though it looked like it, Sanzo was certain Goku was far from afraid of his mother. Or his father, for that matter. He never flinched or looked away when the woman mentioned his father, and Sanzo decided he could safely say Goku's home life wasn't horrible. He wasn't being beaten, just cutting himself--

_Oh yeah, that's much better,_ he thought sarcastically. He folded his arms over his chest, watching the woman's movements with boredom.

Half an hour later found the three of them eating quietly. They all may as well have been strangers for the silence they ate in. Goku was the only one showing signs of life, though in comparison to his usual antics Sanzo found him extremely lifeless. All the boy did was kick his feet a little, occasionally bumping Sanzo's chin.

"Well," the boy's mother said after a while. "I suppose you may go home now."

Knowing her words were directed at him, Sanzo simply made a small noise of agreement and pushed his chair back, turning to go.

"No."

He paused to glance over his shoulder, doing a double take at Goku's expression. The golden eyes were unusually bright and fierce... and directed at his mother. "No," he repeated stubbornly. "If he goes, I'm going with him."

_Don't decide things on your own,_ Sanzo thought in annoyance. He opened his mouth to voice his thoughts but Goku's mother spoke before he could.

"Don't be ridiculous." her voice was dull, never changing tone. "I can't let you out of the house. Not after that. What would your father say?" She turned to Sanzo, gray eyes staring at him with seemingly uncharacteristic intensity. "Your father wouldn't approve, would be, young man?"

"Quite honestly, ma'am, I find it hard to care what any sort of father than brings home a few whores a week approves of," Sanzo said flatly.

During the brief exchange, while Goku's mother blinked and looked uneasy, Goku had scrambled from his seat and run up to Sanzo, latching on to him. Sanzo rolled his eyes but didn't bother pushing him off. The kid had a vise-like grip; this he knew from personal experience. That aside, he found he was growing used to the boy's physical presence anyway...

Goku's mother clearly wasn't one to fight. She simply sighed and said, "You're welcome to stay for the night, if you'd like."

With that approval, Goku grabbed his hand and lead the blonde up to his room.

~*~

"I figured out your problem." Goku barely batted an eyelash, which only served to annoy Sanzo further. He tried to quell it. "You and your mother. You both like to assume things without other people's approval."

"Dunno what you're talking about," Goku said softly.

"For instance," Sanzo continued coldly, as though the boy hadn't spoken. "The way you assume I even want to be here, and the way _she_ assumes I'll bother to keep you out of trouble."

For the first time that day Goku gave him a broad grin, one so similar to his typical smile that Sanzo felt that strange tinge of relief. He brushed it aside. "You never have before," the boy agreed. He leaned back on the bed, shifting so he could pull his little pocketknife out. He waved it at the older boy, still grinning. "So if I was to do something to myself now?"

"Have fun," Sanzo muttered, leaning his head back against the wall. "I couldn't care less."

"Hm..." Goku fell silent, but when Sanzo glanced over at him again the boy hadn't taken the blade to his skin. It was still folded safely inside its little niche.

Sanzo stared for a long moment, at the boy's scarred arm, the pocketknife, the small fingers handling it... and he wondered. It was a crazy idea and stupid besides, but...

"Hey," he said quietly. Goku looked up expectantly. "If I were cut, you'd damn well keep your mouth shut."

With a knowing smile, Goku held out his trinket. "I can keep a secret."

"Good. Because you're going to be the one to do it." At the boy's puzzled expression, Sanzo rolled his eyes and clarified. "Like hell _I'm_ going to do it. If I get caught I can honestly say I didn't cut myself so long as you do it for me. So do it."

"Okay," Goku agreed. Instead of getting up and walking over to the older boy, though, he moved aside on his mattress and patted the spot next to him. "Lie down."

Sanzo arched an eyebrow, wanting to say no but only muttering an insult before he complied with what the boy wanted. Anticipation made him tense; he'd never cut himself intentionally, and even if it _was_ Goku doing it for him, he'd still asked. It made him nervous, but not frightened.

When Goku pushed up at his shirt, however, Sanzo started. "Hey," he snapped, pushing himself up to slap the boy's hand back. "What--"

"I'm not gonna do nothin'," Goku said, sounding insulted. "You gotta lie down. I got an idea."

"Like hell I'm going to let you do something weird without knowing what it is," Sanzo growled.

The boy frowned but sighed and said reluctantly, "I was gonna cut your stomach." He pressed his palm into the older boy's abdomen. "Not deep. I just wanna write my name in you."

_Write his name..._ It sounded morbid, and there was the high chance of Goku miscalculating and tearing him open.

And yet...

"Hmph." Sanzo fell back to the mattress, closing his eyes. "Do what you want. Lock your door."

"Don't need to," Goku said softly, pushing his t-shirt up past his ribs. Golden eyes surveyed the pale skin as small fingers ran over him, causing Sanzo to shiver a bit. "Momma never checks on me anyway..." He pulled the blade out from its place but didn't stop caressing the blonde, smiling. "You're so pale, Sanzo... and really skinny. You'll bleed easily."

Fighting the urge to smack him upside the head, Sanzo said tightly, "Just do it, would you?"

"Okay, okay..." Goku didn't pull his hand back, but did slide it over to Sanzo's side. He let his hand rest there, and a moment later Sanzo felt the sharp pain of a small blade on his flesh. He grimaced a bit, but it didn't hurt too badly.

Goku didn't pull back, drawing the blade slowly over the skin. It was cold, intensifying Sanzo's shivers. The blonde was dimly aware of his fingers raking over Goku's sheets, gripping them tightly as the boy methodically continued to cut into him.

Then it started to burn. Sanzo cringed, tightening his grip on the sheets as the blade left him momentarily before coming back down. Goku kept completely silent the entire time, and when Sanzo looked up he saw that the boy's golden eyes were fixed on his work, seeming entranced. In fact, there was a slight blush on his face, as though he were excited...

Sanzo shuddered again, trying not to arch up or cringe away. Either movement could cause the blade to slip and sink deep into him, and then he'd really be fucked.

Suddenly, Goku whispered, "It's so pretty..." Sanzo shook his head, wondering where he got that from, and the boy spoke again. "It's so, so red on you... so, so pretty..."

It seemed like ages that Goku cut into him. It was like a slow torture, but not entirely the painful kind. Sanzo wasn't stupid enough to mistake the delighted tingles that went through his spine each time the blade touched his skin for something else. Somehow it didn't bother him that he was getting off on this.

"So pretty..."

The blade left off again, and this time didn't return. Sanzo frowned; despite the thin fire-like trails on his abdomen he was disappointed that it was over. He started to push himself up but got another surprise when Goku's tongue touched his wounds.

_That_ was a completely different sensation. The warmth soothed as well as aggravated his cuts, making Sanzo fall back again and willingly arch up against the boy, though he made no sound other than faint panting.

"Sanzo likes it," Goku murmured, gently licking his wounds as though he were a vampire. "Sanzo likes the pain... I told you... I told you..."

Sanzo said nothing at first, just dimly listening to the boy's mantra. He shuddered, his fingers relaxing and tightening in the sheets until he couldn't take it any longer. He reached out, grasping the boy by his hair and jerking him up roughly, grunting in pain as Goku accidentally rubbed against his wounds. The boy fell easily into the kiss, even before Sanzo had really initiated it.

"Dumb monkey," he panted, pulling on the boy's clothes roughly. "You... stupid..."

Goku just smiled as he pulled back, wriggling out of his clothes willingly, his fingers tracing over the cuts on his lover. "You like it," he whispered childishly as Sanzo maneuvered so he could shove the boy down. He made a small moan as Sanzo bit him none to gently. "You... liked it..."

Despite the burning sensation across his stomach, Sanzo simply uttered a low, "Shut up," before he started to shift out of his own clothes as well. With an impish grin, Goku simply pulled him back down for another ungentle kiss.

~*~

"Hey... Sanzo?"

Even if he wanted to look at the boy, Sanzo wasn't in the mood to turn over on his other side and upset the cuts even more. He was surprised Goku wasn't complaining about how sore he was. "What?" he muttered, not bothering to open his eyes.

There was a slight pause before Goku said softly, "Can we... do it soon?"

Sanzo frowned, moving against his better judgment to take a look at the boy. He cringed at the pain, glancing down at the cuts that spelled out a square like, messy-looking 'GOKU.' Tearing his eyes away from it, he looked into the boy's eyes. "We could do it anytime, you idiot," he said scornfully. "You have to tell me when you're ready." When Goku simply nodded, he scoffed and lay down again, this time on his back. "Just tell me when you want to."

"What about... tonight?"

Sanzo started, turning his head sharply to look at him. "What?"

Goku met his gaze levelly. "I wanna do it tonight. 'Cuz as soon as you leave, they're gonna take me back."

The silence that followed made Sanzo uneasy. He shifted a bit, muttering, "You don't even have a gun."

"You do," the boy pointed out. "And I'm sure my dad keeps one somewhere... all you gotta do is show me what to do with it."

Sanzo stared a long time, his gaze hard and scrutinizing. Goku's eyes didn't waver; he stared back levelly, silently insisting that he was ready to do it, that he wanted to do it _now_.

At last Sanzo got up, searching for his clothes and slipping back into them quickly. "Hurry up," he said gruffly. "We'll have to go while it's dark. And you'd better be ready for a long drive."

"How come?" Goku asked curiously, wincing a bit as he pulled his pants on. "Ow..."

Sanzo shot him a look, keeping his voice low so as not to wake anyone. "Because," he said impatiently. "You don't want anyone to hear the gunshots, do you?"

Understanding perfectly, Goku nodded.

Escaping had been almost painfully easy. Goku's mother had been asleep on the couch, his father's car absent from the driveway as they quietly slipped out. Neither even had to watch out for oncoming cars, though they did so anyway the entire way back. Not a soul passed them, and if anyone saw them walking no one thought them anything but two young boys wandering around outside for the evening, possibly walking home.

In Sanzo's case, at least, that was true.

Getting the guns was easy enough; Sanzo's father had yet to come home. It was possible he was still out scouting for his nightly whore. In any case, Sanzo didn't want to take many chances. He grabbed his keys and gun, taking a few moments longer to find his father's gun as well.

_Idiot,_ he thought absently, finding the gun already loaded. _Leaving these out where I can get to them... _He took the bullets out, shoving them in his pocket. He didn't want Goku trying to start anything before they were where they had to be. The boy watched and said nothing, as though reading his thoughts.

"Let's go," Sanzo said shortly, leaving. He didn't bother to lock the door; why should he? He wasn't expecting to come back, and if anything was stolen it wouldn't matter to him.

After all, it was going to end tonight.

Goku didn't seem too picky about the car they drove. He scrambled right in when Sanzo unlocked the door, buckling his seatbelt like a good little boy. Sanzo didn't bother to.

And so, within half an hour, they were already on their way to their final destination.

~*~

The cry that resounded in the otherwise empty car was enough to make Sanzo shudder, clenching his eyes shut as he tensed, then went limp, gasping for breath. Goku remained atop him, shivering but unmoving, as though savouring the moment. Then he too collapsed, right on top of his lover. Sanzo cringed as that upset his wounds.

"Mm..." Goku buried his face in the crook of Sanzo's neck, nipping the skin there. "... for someone that wants... to die... you sure seemed into it," he mumbled.

Sanzo simply shook his head, pushing at the boy. "Off," he gasped, still trying to catch his breath properly. "It's fucking hot..."

Goku moved back obediently, eyeing him mischievously. "That's because--"

"Shut up." Sanzo forced himself to sit up, feeling cramped in the back space of the car. He cringed as his cuts flared to life with pain. Trying to ignore it, he started looking for his lost pants.

Once their clothes were in order they climbed out of the car. Sanzo paused to open the trunk and retrieve their weapons, but Goku immediately wandered over to the creaky house they had parked near.

"How'd ya find this place?" he called.

Sanzo shook his head, shutting the trunk and walking past the boy, kicking open the old front door and walking inside. "An old friend of mine used to take me here," he said roughly. "It was his favourite place to escape to when he could afford to drive that far away."

"Ah..."

Sanzo set the guns and bullets on an abandoned table, looking around quietly. He'd never gone inside before, simply because Koumyou had always said it was too dangerous. He could understand why now; whatever furniture was left in the abandoned place was broken and splintered. The dead lights looked ready to fall any moment; graffiti decorated the area on every wall, hardly an off-white space left anywhere.

_How long has it been since I came here?_ he wondered absently.

"... Sanzo." He turned, looking at Goku who was holding out one of the guns. Then he looked at the table.

Two rounds. One for each of them...


	8. Epilogue

**:: Double Suicide ::**

_Gensomaden__ Saiyuki_

Disclaimer: I don't own Gensomaden Saiyuki, which rightfully belongs to Minekura Kazuya.

Rating: PG-13

Pairings: Sanzo/Goku

Warnings: AU, death, some gore, some creepiness, hinted shounen ai/yaoi

Notes: Last part in the fic. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, but the most thanks to anyone that gave me anything constructive. I'm most happy when someone tells me what I'm doing right or wrong, so I appreciate those reviews the most. Even for this last part, constructive criticism and feedback is appreciated. 

--

_Epilogue_

_"Sanzo?__ What's wrong?"_

_The monk started, looking up with an impassive expression that didn't reveal his surprise. "Nothing's wrong," he said flatly, leaning back in his seat. "What makes you ask such a stupid question, monkey?"_

_The boy made a face at him, folding his arms on his keeper's desk and resting his chin on them. Not once did his golden eyes stray away from Sanzo. "Your eyes were all wet," he said._

_Sanzo scowled. "What?" That wasn't right; there was no way he'd been crying._

_As though reading his mind, Goku tried to clarify. "Not like when someone cries... like the clear stuff they put over cakes sometimes!"_

Glazed,_ Sanzo realized, closing his eyes briefly. That meant he'd been drifting off again without meaning to..._

_"Were you dreamin'?" Goku asked curiously, tilting his head._

_Normally Sanzo would tell him to shut up and go away... normally. That was when Goku was being typically irritating. Somehow, though, he couldn't bring himself to be annoyed. So instead he shrugged a bit, muttering softly, "Something like that."_

_"About what?"___

_Sanzo cringed inwardly, shaking his head. No, it was impossible. What he thought he'd seen... it was just a gruesome image brought up because of a combination of past experiences and too much stress. That could get you thinking strange things, even seeing odd things in your mind, such as..._

~*~

There wasn't just blood, but a lot of chunky-looking gray matter splattered on the wall and floor. The figure sprawled beneath was absolutely still, unmoving, not breathing... certainly not even speaking, no matter how loudly he could hear the voice in his mind.

Or was it in his mind? It sounded so real...

~*~

_"Sanzo, look!"___

_"You idiot monkey!__ Get that thing out of here!"_

_"It's not a thing! It's a puppy, and I want to name it Shi-chan!"_

_"Idiot!__ Get it out of my room!"_

_"Ow! Why'd you have to hit me?!"_

_"Stop whining and get rid of it! Or do you want meat so badly that you want to eat it?"_

_"Ugh! Okay, okay, I'll set him outside! Geez..."_

~*~

Which was real? The strange room and the boy in the red Chinese-looking outfit? He wanted it to be real. Desperately. There he could sense a sort of peace, a gentle but strong sense of belonging. That boy belonged there, and so did he... and he wanted to be there.

Not here. Not with the dead boy on the floor.

In the other world that boy looked so happy, the glint of mischief in golden eyes far from destructive. Like a devilishly playful child, not a corrupted, tainted little boy...

That was the Goku he _should_ have known. That was the Goku he felt the sudden aching longing _to_ know.

Sanzo hardly felt the wood splinters slip into his back as he slid down the wall, his gaze fixed on the dead body before him. Mostly blood pooled around the boy, but that and more was all over the wall behind him.

A bullet through the mouth, right through his brain. There was no way he could still be alive.

He gazed at his hands dazedly, bringing one down to the cuts across his stomach. He prodded them gently, feeling them burn a bit. It didn't even make him flinch anymore, almost like Goku's death had taken the pain away from him.

Sanzo closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall. _All a dream... it's all just a dream..._

_"Sanzo!"___

_"Sanzo, what are you doing there on the floor?"_

_"C'mon, let's go do stuff! It'll be fun! Saaaaaanzo!"_

He could still see that world in his mind's eye, still desired it greatly. The only consequence was that choosing to go to that world meant giving up whatever mind or sanity he had left.

But he couldn't think straight anymore. Goku had taken that, too.

And so, not caring for the consequences, Sanzo clung to the fake world like a lifeline. In it he saw Goku breathing, saw imaginary people that he'd never seen before, people that would care for him in different ways. And Goku. Goku would be there... alive... breathing... smiling... selflessly taking away his pain whenever he could.

With the stench of blood filling his senses, all Sanzo found he could do was laugh.


End file.
